


Secondhand Hellhounds

by nichristi



Category: Secondhand Lions (2003), Supernatural
Genre: 1950s AU, BAMF everyone, Brief violence against a child, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: deancasbigbang, Fluff and Angst, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Minor Character Death, Retired!Dean, Retired!Sam, Temporary Character Death, implications of suicidal thoughts, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichristi/pseuds/nichristi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester are uncomfortably retired and discontent to live out their days in peace. Until a distant relative drops Ben Braeden on their doorstep for the summer. At first, they’re content to ignore him and go on with their business (or lack thereof). Then Ben finds a picture in a worn out trunk and Sam opens his big mouth and starts telling stories. This is a story about love won and lost, of war and peace, and ordering Hellhounds through the mail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand Hellhounds

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the 2015 DCBB! Art by the lovely tarastarr1 on tumblr.  
> OMG, guys, I actually finished a fic!  
> Apologies for blatant historical inaccuracies and butchery of canon. Also, in this AU, the world has had enough to deal with without the added stupid that is homophobia. I'm sure it exists in this world, but for the most part, people don't care. Also, apologies for how I treated Lisa in this fic. I love her I promise!  
> Finally, this fic is based on the movie Secondhand Lions. If you haven't seen it, you absolutely should, but you don't have to to understand the story. Michael Caine. With a Texan accent. Priceless.

Ben Braeden stared miserably out the car window as his mom jabbered about God knew what. He tried to enjoy the time with her, but he knew her game and it wasn’t about to change. She'd butter him up and make lots of promises, then drop him off somewhere while she sweet talked someone out of their money. "Where are we going?" He asked. Not that he cared where. Some places weren’t all that bad. As long as it wasn’t the orphan home again.

She looked over at him with one of those long suffering looks like it wasn't her fault he was thick and no one liked him. "Lebanon, Kansas,” she replied. “You're gonna be staying with your two uncles while I'm gone, okay?"

"Mom, you're an only child. I know what uncles are," he snarked.

"Well," she huffed,"Mr. Smarty-pants, it just so happens they really are your uncles. Your great uncles. My mother's adopted brothers."

Ben wasn't sure he believed that, but that was par for the course as far as Lisa Braeden was concerned. He sighed and tried to watch the fields roll by as she went on about court reporting school in Kansas City and buying a house and settling down. God, he wanted that to be true. He wanted that so bad. To be a family again. Like before Dad died. Before Mom found more comfort in strangers than her own son. "You're just gonna love your uncles,” She said. “Word has it they disappeared for something like forty years and just now turned up again. They say they've got millions just lying around somewhere. Think about it! A real live buried treasure just like in those books you're always reading!" The confusion must've been evident on his face because she rolled her eyes and said, "Those two aren't getting any younger, you know. They're probably lonely. Besides. You and me? We're the only family they've got." 

"You want them to like me so they'll die and give us their money?" He asked. Ben knew his mom did some shady stuff sometimes, but Jesus. Conning a couple of innocent old men? And getting Ben to do the dirty work? New low. Even for her. "Can't I just come with you?" He asked. And no, he did not whine.

"No!" She snapped. "Honey, I'm gonna be working my tail off learning court reporting! I am doing everything I can to keep this family together!"

Ben suppressed a snort. “I can see that,” he muttered under his breath.

“You mind your tone, Benjamin Robert Braeden,” Lisa said in a warning tone. Ben bit back a reply. Fights never ended well where his mom’s life choices were concerned.

Finally, they turned down a dirt drive with a beat up mailbox, his mom crowing excitedly, "Oh, look, there it is Honey! There it is!" Ben didn't see what she was so excited about. Mostly, he just felt dread compound in on itself as they passed such welcoming signs as, "Caution, Rabid Attack Dogs" and "Radiation Warning" and "Turn Back Now".

"You told them we were coming right?" He asked, even though he could guess the answer.

"Aww, no," Mom crooned, "Older folks just love surprises!" Ben highly doubted that. His concerns were only confirmed when they pulled up to the house. It looked like every haunted house he'd ever read about, run down and unkempt. The barn didn't look much better and the storm cellar- scratch that. That was a bunker. An honest-to-God bunker right in the middle of the driveway. The thing was huge and, incidentally, it looked better kept than the rest of the property. Benefits of concrete, Ben guessed.

Mom put the car in park and fished in her purse for her compact as Ben climbed out of the car - and was ambushed by a pack of dogs of all shapes and sizes. And an honest to God giant freaking pig. Ben jumped and tried to shield himself behind the car door, praying they would just go away. They didn't. Not until a gunshot rang across the fields. Then another. Oh God. They were gonna die. He looked across the car roof to his mother sweeping her dark hair behind one ear. "They must be down by that lake." She started toward the shooting as Ben stared after her. Was she afraid of nothing? There were legends about these men, if he was going to believe anything his mom said. She was halfway to the lake- really, it was more of a pond- when he finally shook himself to action and ran to catch up.

The shots didn't stop, but as he got closer, Ben saw two tall men with broad shoulders dressed in waders aiming double barreled shotguns at the water's surface shouting thing like, "Winged 'im!" "He's runnin' for it!" "Cover me, I'm goin' in!" Ben was seriously considering driving his underage self back to town when his mom started calling, "Yoohoo!" Ben looked at her, mouth agape. Thankfully, she kept a safe distance as they both spun to face them, guns levelled. Ben was all for running back to the car, but Lisa held him fast, tucking him under her arm, "Uncle Dean! Uncle Sam! It's me, Lisa!" The men didn't lower their guns and stared hard at them. "Lisa! Jo's daughter!" The taller one lowered his weapon and muttered something that sounded like, "Relatives." The other one shook his head and shouldered his own gun with a clear, "Damn!"

Lisa Braeden didn't take "no" for an answer. His mom practically chased the two big men inside. Ben would've been glad to defer to Uncle Dean's sentiment of "We're old, Dammit! Leave us alone!" and run off with his tail between his legs. Of course, no one asked him, but who cared anyway?  Ben was just a burden. A "sissy boy" and a "damn weenie" to hear his uncles talk. His mom actually agreed with them, "I know. That's why he needs to be around a couple strong men like you." Wow, was she laying it on thick! Still, Ben had to give her props. She didn't even bat an eye when Uncle Dean said, "He's gotta cook for his damn self!" Ben just sat outside on the back step and tried not to feel like so much luggage. The screen door slammed as the adults trooped outside. Lisa looked smug and his uncles looked like they'd been handed a death sentence. Ben was sure he didn't look any better. 

Ben followed his mother out to the car and fished his solitary suitcase from the backseat. He probably should have been used to his mom leaving by now, but as he stood next to the open driver's side window listening to her prattle on about finding the money and being good and seeing him at the end of the summer, Ben was struck by how much he'd miss her. After all, greedy and selfish as she was, she was still his mother. And the only real family he had. He held his eyes open wide and tried not to flinch when she said, "Ben, if you learned to smile, people might like you." Right. Cuz he had so much to smile about. Mom put on that big, perfect smile of hers and coaxed, "Come on, how about a big smile to remember you by?" Ben tried. He really did. But by his mother's disappointed face, he must've failed miserably. "You'll have to work on that smile while I'm gone, okay?" She blew him a kiss and tore out of the driveway, white tail fins gleaming in the sun; leaving him staring into the hard faces of his great uncles. Uncle Sam tilted his head and turned to the house. "Well?" Ben scrambled for his suitcase and followed.

* * *

Ben, it turned out, did not have to cook for his damn self. In fact, he didn't have to do much of anything. Uncle Dean hauled his suitcase to places unknown while Sam threw together some sandwiches and iced tea. If Ben hadn't just seen both men firing shotguns into the pond, he'd swear on his beat up copy of Arabian Nights that his great uncles were actually completely normal retired bachelors.

They retreated to the front porch and Ben settled with his sandwich on the steps while the old guys each took a rocking chair. They just sat there quietly, for hours, staring into the vast flat nothing that was Kansas. It was peaceful. And boring. He found himself surreptitiously studying his uncles out of the corner of his eye, hoping for a clue to their personalities. Anything to see that they were more than some crazy old guys sipping iced tea on the front porch with shotguns across their laps. Ben fidgeted and squirmed and tried his best not to show his discomfort (not that Sam or Dean noticed he even existed) until finally, he turned back and asked, "If my mom calls, can we hear the phone out here?" God he hoped so. Not that he expected her to call yet or anything, but he really wanted to know she was gonna be OK. Uncle Sam looked up from something he'd started whittling and said, "Don't have one." Ben was shocked. It was 1954. EVERYONE had a telephone. "No telephone?" He asked, incredulously. Uncle Dean shook his head and rubbed a soft cloth down the barrel of his gun. "Can I go inside and watch television?" "Don't have one," Uncle Sam repeated. "What do you do?" Ben exclaimed.

As if in answer, a cloud of dust sent the dogs (and the freaking pig) clammering to meet whatever new friend had just pulled up in a brand new pink Cadillac with silver tailfins. A dapper man in a tailored suit and hat with the face of a catfish slid out of the car and greeted the Winchesters with a cheerful, "Hey! Word has it you two have millions stashed away!" Okay, so maybe it wasn't just some family secret. "Think of the security investing in gold and silver could bring!" Bang! Ben jumped about three feet in the air as the traveling salesman took cover behind his slick new car. Sam reloaded his gun while Dean took aim at the pamphlets the poor guy was waving. Ben pressed his hands to his ears and took cover behind the post of the front porch and tried not to laugh at the spectacle of Catfish Face as he tore out of the driveway faster than a bat out of Hell. Uncle Sam fished a box of ammo from under the wicker table and Ben scrunched even further behind the little pillar of wood as another brand new car, a Green Buick this time, drove to meet its unexpected doom. This time, it was steak knives. The next time was an honest-to-God anvil salesman. They didn't even let the guy with the purple car shut the engine off. Dean said it was on principle. Ben couldn't find it in himself to disagree. It seemed like dozens more traveling salesmen pulled up in increasingly ridiculous cars with increasingly ridiculous items to sell. Garden seeds, tractor hitches, magazine crates, retirement funds (Sam and Dean left three holes in that one's flawless yellow trunk) and (Ben's personal favorite) sewing machines. When the shots finally stopped, silence echoed through his head and he finally looked over to see Uncle Dean take a swig of iced tea and settle back in his chair, muttering, "Nice evening." Uncle Sam hummed back, "Peaceful." In a weird way, it was.

* * *

That night, Uncle Sam handed Ben a small gas lamp and directed him to the staircase. "Alright kid, you sleep up there. In the tower."

That didn't sound ominous at all. Not that the staircase did anything to help. All dark and musty like no one had been up there in years, cobwebs sticking to the ceiling. Ben was sure something lived up there. Maybe one of those old endangered species at the zoo. Like a Hellhound or a Chimera. Maybe a Golem. "Hey, kid," Uncle Dean said. Ben jumped. Again. God, he wasn't usually this antsy, was he? Uncle Sam fixed him with a blank look and said, "We don't know anything about kids. So if you need something,"

"Find it yourself," Uncle Dean said, "Or better yet, learn to do without."

"We're not as young as we once were."

"Fixin' to die any time," Dean put in. "So if we kick off in the middle of the night, you're on your own." Suddenly the creepy tower room didn't seem so terrifying. He shuffled upstairs and just barely caught Uncle Dean muttering, "Jumpy little guy." And Uncle Sam's, "Quiet though," before he shut his rickety door at the top of the stairs.

The tower room wasn't that bad. It was bigger than any room he'd stayed in before and it was all his, so that was a definite plus. It was dusty, like no one had been up there in years. When he plunked his suitcase on the bed, he waved away the cloud of dust that billowed into his face and made a mental note to beat the mattress out in the morning. He fished his toothbrush out of his suitcase and plucked some fluff from the middle of it. He stuck the thing in his mouth and continued to observe the room. There was a balcony with a couple rickety French doors, the bed frame was old and rusty, much like the rest of the house. Much like the rest of the property. Much like the two owners. Paint was peeling from the walls and there was dust EVERYWHERE. Even the old trunk in the corner. It was well worn with travel and age. Old stickers were plastered all over it from all over the world. Even the places people only heard stories about. The ones in the history books at school and the storybooks from his childhood. Morocco. Paris. Berlin.The Hellgates. St. Petersburg. Tokyo. Australia. The Great Wall.  Purgatory. This trunk spoke of stories more incredible and far flung than even his mom could dream up. A big old padlock kept the thing sealed tight and Ben was almost scared there was magic in it even as he yanked on it.

Eventually, he put his lantern on the top and climbed onto the bed. It creaked and rustled with the dust and old springs, but it was comfortable enough. Then he remembered he still had his shoes on. He sat up and grabbed the bedpost to steady himself and almost fell over when the top twisted off and skittered across the ground. He scampered after it and found it wasn’t empty. A small key shook out. He tried it in the lock. Even if the key looked too small, it was a perfect fit. Ben tried to contain his excitement as he lifted the lid, images of Gold and Silks and Precious Artifacts filtering through his head. When he finally poked his head in though, all he found was soft white sand. Before he even thought about the possibility of dormant sand monsters or booby traps, he was running his hand through it. This was almost better than gold and jewels. No. Scratch that. This was definitely better than gold and jewels. This was a mystery. His fingers bumped something beneath the surface and Ben brushed the sand away with all the care of an archaeologist and lifted out a black and white photo surrounded by a simple black frame. It was faded around the edges and obviously old, but the face staring back at him was so vibrant and real Ben couldn’t help but stare just in case it came to life and started talking to him. The man looking back at him had a white shirt with a colored ascot flung around his neck. His head was tilted to the side and his lips were quirked just a little in that way that made you think he was just about to laugh or call down fire from Heaven. His eyes shone, even in the picture, and pierced Ben right to the core. Ben sat transfixed, certain that if he just stared at this man long enough, all the answers to all the questions and all the riddles surrounding Sam and Dean Winchester would be solved.

The screen door slammed. Ben jumped back into reality and carefully replaced the picture before stumbling to the curtains of the big French doors. He wasn't sure what he expected at 11 o'clock at night, but it most definitely was not Uncle Dean in an old fashioned nightgown wielding a toilet plunger. God help him, the curiosity was too much. He shoved his feet into his shoes and bolted down the stairs.

He started at the barn, then the gardening shed, and he looked around the bunker, but the door was locked. Uncle Dean was nowhere to be found. He made his way down to the pond and found the dogs- and the freaking pig- but no Dean. He was just about to turn back and go to bed when he was just about bowled over by the man himself, plunger raised, with a look of complete determination on his face. Ben barely dodged a blow that, plunger or not, would have separated head from shoulders and scrambled to the relative safety that was the line of dogs. “He’s sleepwalking?” he hissed to no one in particular. Ben settled in to watch.

Dean charged down to the shoreline and held his hands and plunger above his head to parley with whoever he was fighting in his dreams.  Apparently, negotiations didn’t go well. Dean lifted his plunger-sword against his invisible enemies. The next thing Ben knew, his great uncle was whirling and slashing and stabbing at what had to be at least ten assailants. He parried and feinted and danced along the bank and Ben would have thought it funny if the face Dean wore wasn’t so utterly terrifying. This man had fought like this before. With real people. And won. Ben was awestruck. He could almost physically see the years melt off his face and the attackers around him. Uncle Dean knocked one of his enemies back into the pond and followed. He kicked at an invisible sword and slashed, holding the plunger to what had to be the enemy’s throat. His expression darkened even further. He raised the plunger high and stabbed at the water over and over and over again and when he finally stopped, he raised it high in grim victory.

* * *

Ben woke with a start. The sun was breaking over the horizon. He was still in his clothes from yesterday. And outside. Oh. Apparently last night wasn’t a dream. He slapped as much dust off his pants as possible and took off running for the farmhouse, dogs in tow. He slipped into the kitchen as quietly as possible. A pan of eggs and sausage sizzled on the stove and the smell of coffee filled the air.

Ben stood frozen in the utter normalcy of it all. He wasn’t sure what to think of the world he’d landed in. One minute, his uncles were shooting at traveling salesmen and the next they were sitting on the porch drinking iced tea. This weird dualism had to end somewhere.

Uncle Sam strode into the kitchen and nodded at Ben. He gave the eggs a stir and shuffled a few papers on the table. A card fell to the floor and Ben stooped to pick it up. It was an order form asking for a travelling sales representative to come to the address listed below. Ben handed the card back with a smirk, “Does Uncle Dean know you ask the salesmen to come up here so he can shoot at them?”

Sam snorted and took the card. “Does it matter?”

“Guess not,” Ben said. Uncle Sam shot him a look, handed him a stack of plates and motioned for him to sit down. Ben settled in for one of the heftiest breakfasts he’d ever seen. Sam served himself and heaped a plate high for Dean. They dug in just as Uncle Dean made an appearance. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, grunting, “Brand new mattress and I’m still waking up all tired and sore.”

“That’s what you get for trying that newfangled Swedish stuff,” Sam said between bites. “Sit down and eat your breakfast.”

“It’s supposed to remember me,” Dean grumbled under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes and breakfast fell into a companionable silence. Ben looked back and forth between his uncles and tried to think of a way to bring up the things he’d found the night before. Finally, he decided to settle on his mom’s question.

“So!” He said, maybe a little too enthusiastically, “You guys disappeared for forty whole years!” Neither one looked at him, but Dean visibly tensed up. Ben looked at Sam, “Where were you?”

The silence got a helluva lot more awkward until Sam finally caved, "Africa mostly. Morocco, Kenya, Sudan. Did a stint in Purga-"

"Nothin' more pathetic than a couple o’ has beens jabbering about the good old days," Dean interrupted with a pointed look at Sam. "Those days are through, and so are we." Well that effectively ended the conversation. Ben felt a pit settle in his stomach. Real good job with that one.

The rest of breakfast was awkward to say the least. Ben just wanted to hole himself up in his room and read a book. So he helped clear the table and retreated upstairs. He didn’t get much reading done, though. The imaginary adventures in his books were nothing compared to the potentially real ones in his trunk full of sand. Ben leaned up against the bed frame and stared at it. Africa, Sam had said. “What happened there?” Ben asked the picture hidden inside. “What do you know?”

Sam found him not ten minutes later, though it felt like years. "Why don't you come help us down in the garden?"

"You have a garden?"

Sam smiled a little and walked down the stairs. Ben scrambled after him.

* * *

"Hate! Hate! Hate!" Punctuated each of Dean's murderous strikes to the ground with the hoe.

Sam just went on his merry way declaring, "We're retired. Gardening is what retired people do."

Ben rolled his eyes and tried not to lose control of his own hoe. He'd never done this before. The ground was hard as the cement of the bunker and didn't give way even to Ben's most enthusiastic whacks. He was just about to ask if a pickaxe would work better when Dean huffed at Sam, "Why the Hell do you wanna do this anyway?" like a three year old on the brink of a temper tantrum.

"It's good for you. Make you live to be a hundred."

"Yeah? Well to Hell with that," Dean tossed his hoe over his shoulder. "You live to be a hundred." He stalked off to the house.

The crunch of tires on the dirt drive made Ben cringe. Shotgun time. He looked at Uncle Sam who had a puzzled a look on his face. Maybe not shotgun time. Shouts echoed out of rolled down windows as a family pulled up, “Dean! How are you? Uncle Dean!”

Sam sighed, “Well this is just the week for it, isn’t it?” For his part, Dean completely ignored the frankly grating sound of the people in the car and slammed the kitchen door behind him. The car pulled right up to the garden and out piled a tall, skinny man in a gray suit and a short, dark haired woman in a matronly yellow dress and three snot nosed kids- two boys and a girl. “Uncle Sam!” the woman called.

“God help us,” Sam groaned.

“We decided to pop in for a visit!” the man said.

“The whole weekend!” The woman said, not missing a beat, “We know how lonely our favorite uncles get-”

Sam didn’t dignify them with a response, just dropped his hoe, pushed past them, and followed Dean up to the house. The intruding relatives- not that Ben could talk, but whatever, he didn’t have much choice in the matter- turned their slimy attention to him. The man narrowed his eyes at him. “Who the Hell are you?” he demanded.

“Um. Benjamin?” These people were not allowed to call him Ben.

“Benjamin?” The woman asked, “Lisa’s boy?” Ben nodded.

At her husband’s incredulous look she said, none too softly, “Jo’s Daughter. That loose widow woman always messing around.” Oh Hell No. His mom might have some issues, but NO ONE insulted her to his face. He was a nice kid, and a bit of wimp, but he broke a kid’s nose once at the orphan home when they called his mom a drunk whore. No matter how true those words might be, he (And maybe his Uncles since they had authority on the subject and were damn scary) was the only one allowed to even think those things.

His gaze hardened on the intruders and he wished heartily that he’d followed his uncles’ lead. The woman beat him to it and herded her brood up to the house. The man waggled his finger at him before following them, “We know what you’re up to. And don’t think you’re gonna get away with it.” The money. They thought he was after the money too. Well they weren’t completely wrong.

Ben considered sneaking up to his room through the kitchen door and hiding out until the new relatives left. Or maybe the barn. If it was unlocked, the Bunker was looking incredibly welcoming. Ultimately he decided not to invade his uncles’ privacy (for now) and make for his room. Then he watched the kids go to the front porch and the adults go in the kitchen door and he decided to just sit on the back step until it was safe. The lady, Dean called her Gwen, and her husband Christian were in the kitchen ripping Sam and Dean a new one about the “Winchester inability to turn away strays”.

Sam cut in on Gwen’s ranting with, “His Mom’s gonna be back before too long.”

Gwen snorted in disgust, “Huh, that woman? From I hear, she may never come back. You better send him to the orphan home right this minute.”

Well it had to happen some time. Ben sighed and got up to sneak past them. Might as well start packing. Dean’s voice was venomous when he replied, “Whether we send him to the orphan home or tie him up and throw him in the lake, it’s our business.”

Ben smiled a half smile and paused momentarily at the kitchen. He turned to the stairs when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Well here he is now, Spying!” Christian dragged him into the kitchen. Ben didn’t think. He kicked at Christian’s shin as hard as he could and stomped on his foot for good measure. Without stopping to even look at his uncles, he bolted out the door and down the driveway, past the barn, the bunker, and the cars.

He didn’t stop until he came to a tiny fill-up station with a pay phone. He caught his breath and hoped against hope that his mom hadn’t lied this time. He picked up the phone.

“Kansas City College of Court Reporting,” came a nice sounding lady’s voice.

“I’m looking for my mom,” Ben choked out. “She’s a student there.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

“No! She’s gotta be there! Her name’s Lisa Braeden.”

There was a pause, “Sorry.”

“Oh. Try Lisa Milligan.”

“No, sorry.”

“Bela Talbot? Meg Masters? Anna Milton?”

There was a pause before the lady asked,“Son, are you in some kind of trouble?”

Ben refused to believe what he was hearing. “Sh- She’s gotta be there. She just started.”

“Son, our classes started back in January. Nobody could’ve possibly just started.”

Ben froze. Like every other time, that one little part of him had wanted to believe so bad that his mom was actually getting herself together. He always did this. Got his hopes up that maybe she'd step up. Maybe in another life, but not this one. He was dimly aware that the court reporting lady was still on the line saying "Hello? Hello?" He hung up the phone and sat numbly on the station’s step.

* * *

Dean would probably never admit it to anyone, but he liked Ben. That kid had spunk. He wasn't big and his mother was a goddamn piece of work, but under all that shy awkwardness, Ben was tough. Dean could see it. So when their first-cousins-twice removed-on-their-mother's-side pulled up that day with their god awful children and started strutting about like they owned the damn place, including the kid, Sam and Dean got protective. "Whether we send him to the orphan home or tie him up and throw him in the lake, it's our business." Of course, Gwen had her opinions on that and Lisa and every other damn thing in the universe. Dean and his brother had learned a long time ago that once she got going, there was no stopping her. So they let her go like a hellhound with a soul. Something else would grab her attention sooner or later. Then Christian, the little shit, dragged Ben into the kitchen. It was all Dean could do not to slap him silly and throw the lot of them off their property. Luckily, he didn't have to. Ben kicked him hard in the shin and took off running. Gwen was furious and shouted, "Did you see that? Did you see what he just did?" Fuck yes, they saw that. He snorted a laugh and Sam chuckled softly. Neither of them went after him though. He probably just went down to the barn. They'd give him some time to cool off and he'd wander back in sooner or later.

Ben did not wander back in. They looked all over the property. He wasn't in the barn or down by the lake. They kept the Bunker locked up tight, so there was no way the kid was down there. Sam wanted to go looking for him. Christian wanted to tag along saying, “That kid’s gotta respect his elders.” Dean bit his tongue and shoved Christian in the back seat.

It was after dark and they'd turned Lebanon upside down looking for Ben. Christian was being his bitchy little self and mouthing off every two seconds.

"That kid broke my foot."

"You deserved it, dumbass," Dean snapped.

"Dean, I don't see why you have to drive. It's my car."

"Stop whining."

They were getting close to the fill station on the outskirts of town.

"I'll tell you something. When we do find that kid, I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind."

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam smacked his arm and pointed, "There he is."

God, what a pathetic sight. Ben was shivering on the station's step with a piece of paper in his lap. Dean pulled over and Christian made to get out. "You so much as think about moving, I will knock you out so hard, you'll wake up next year." Sam got out and motioned at him, "Dean, come on."

"No. Sam-" Time was, Dean was good with kids. Now, he was absolutely going to put his foot in it. Age had not made him kinder. Life had not made him mellow. Just restless and angry at everything. So, he voted to let Sammy handle this one and he’d guard Christian's dumb ass.

"Dean," Sam warned, "get out of the car." That was the no nonsense voice. That was the "Sam Winchester is a scary badass" voice and Dean knew many people who had been on the receiving end of that and not survived. Dean got out of the car. He swallowed hard and put on a brave face- for Christian if no one else.

Sam and Dean settled on either side of Ben. They looked at the paper in his lap. Just a simple area code map, but it spoke volumes. Ben was leaving. By himself. On foot. He didn't even have a jacket.

Sam broke the silence, "Where you planning on going?"

Ben pointed, "Area code 406. Montana."

Dean sighed, "You know Montana's werewolf country, right?" Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Why aren't you going to Kansas City, where your mom is?" He asked, even though he could guess the answer.

Ben drew a shaky breath, "She's not there. She lied. Again."

Neither Sam or Dean knew how to respond to that one, even if they'd been prepared for it. Sam changed the subject.

"You know, we've got better maps than that back at the house."

"Yeah. A man needs a good map, that's for sure," Dean added. A few beats of silence passed and Ben stood up, still as tense as ever. He looked both ways and said tightly, "I should hit the road. Which way's North?" Dean pointed. Sam smacked his arm. Heh. Just like old times.

Christian blasted the horn. They all jumped a little. They'd kinda forgotten about him. Not that it was hard to do. He got up and laughed, "I'll say one thing about this kid, He sure pisses off the relatives." Ben finally relaxed just a little.

"Ben" Sam said conspiratorially. "I know you got your heart set on Montana, but if you come back with us and stay awhile, Gwen and Christian are going to hate it. You know, I'll bet they hate it so much that they'd go away and leave us all the Hell alone."

"Yeah," Dean said, "It's so crazy it just might work. Whaddya say, kid? Help us out?"

Finally, Ben relaxed and followed Sam and Dean to the car. Dean made sure he squeezed between them in the front seat, much to Christian's wonderful indignation. Seeing a grown man sulk in the backseat of his own car was extremely satisfying.

The next day found everyone on the front porch. Dean dragged one of the kitchen chairs outside and set Ben up next to Sam while Gwen, Christian, and company squeezed onto the small bench in the opposite corner.

"How's that root beer, kid?"

Ben smiled over the top of the bottle.

Dean held back a smirk and ran a hand over the barrel of his gun, daring either of their relatives to open their annoying mouths.

Finally, Gwen smacked Christian with a folded up newspaper and goaded him into talking.

"Uncle Sam? Uncle Dean," he began. "This has been such a...wonderful weekend...I hate to bring this up..."

"Spit it out before you hurt yourself," Sam said coldly.

"Have you had a chance to look at that will I left you last time?"

Well they took their sweet time getting around to it. Dean rolled his eyes and knew Sam was doing the same. Yeah, they'd looked at it. They’d burned it, too. Seriously, it was like people forgot that Sam was a lawyer before- well- everything. Dean opened his mouth to retort when a bright pink car blew into the driveway. Thank God, something to shoot. Ignoring the indignant squawks from the unwanted corner of the porch, he stood and aimed directly at the idiot behind the wheel. Sam was right next to him, as always. As much as the Sasquatch kept saying they were retired, it was obvious he missed their old life as much as Dean sometimes.

The traveling salesman waved frantically inside the car. Huh. That was new. The guy dove from his car and ducked behind the hood, waving a handkerchief frantically and yelling about whatever the hell he was selling. “He’s been here before!” Sam called, excited. The guy did sound a bit familiar.

“Man, I like me a challenge,” Dean returned. “Cover me, I’ll go around front.”

“Wait!” Ben grabbed his arm. “Why not see what he’s selling?”

“What?” Honestly, the thought never crossed his mind before.

“I mean, what’s the point of having all that money if you’re never gonna spend it?”

Dean looked at Sam, “He might have a point.”

“Ok. We’ll see what he’s selling. Then we’ll shoot him.”

“Yeah.”

Everyone gathered by the trunk of the car with the salesman; a short, smarmy man in a pressed suit. Dean started. No. Crowley was dead. Dean felt Sam tense up next to him. Before either of them could say anything, the man who couldn’t possibly be Crowley took a deep breath and said, “Due to the frankly explosive nature of our previous encounters, I have taken it upon myself to search the worlds over to find that perfect instrument for two accomplished sportsmen such as yourselves. And boys, I do believe I’ve found it.”

“You-” Sam started.

"One of those faces, Moose. Wanna see?" Without waiting for a response, he yanked the tarp off the contraption. And it was- something. All levers and rust. There was a disk shoved in there. Dean was seconds away from shoving his gun at the guys head and ordering him off the property with whatever the damn thing was when Ben piped up," What is it?"

"That right there is the Sport of Kings.  Up until now, only heads of state have been able to afford it and it is so easy to operate even this child could to it."  The guy almost had snake oil oozing out of his pores. Sam started to shift uneasily, but Ben brightened considerably and said, “Really?”

“Sure!” The salesman replied and started fiddling with the contraption. He pulled the biggest lever back and leaned up against the trunk. “You pull that lever whenever you want, young man,” Crowley said. Ben moved around the thing like it was gonna bite him. By the time he got around to touching the contraption, the salesman had shifted his weight against the trunk of his car with a low thud.

Quick as a flash, the lever released the flying disc into the air. Before anyone could blink, the Crowley wannabe had flicked his trunk open and fired a shotgun at the disc. Well color Dean impressed. Even Sammy with all his talk about “retiring” and “settling down” and “gardening” was dumbstruck. They turned to each other, undoubtedly thinking, “Awesome, but no thanks” when Gwen piped up from right behind them, “Well that is the biggest load of horseshit I have ever seen.” Oh Hell no.

Christian was right there to back her up, “Mister, you pack that thing up and get the Hell off this propert-”

“We’ll take it,” Dean interrupted. The ensuing silence was almost louder than a collective gasp. Honestly, it was a little ridiculous. The grin beaming off Ben’s face and the ensuing complaints of the relatives made the smug look on Crowley’s face an acceptable penalty as Sam dug in his pockets and paid the frankly horrible price of $10,000 right there, cash. That set Gwen and Christian off yet again and Sam was the one to finally snap, “Gwen! Enough!”

That shut them right up. “C’mon, Daddy, Let’s go.” Mission accomplished. They tore down the driveway and disappeared in a cloud of dust and bad intentions.

“Good Riddance,” The salesman said.

“I’d say what the Hell but-”

“Redundant, Dean. Redundant.”

“Why aren’t you dead?”

“You lot closed the gates and disappeared off the face of the Earth. Figured I’d check up on you. Fancy me finding out you two are retired of all things! How very Bobby of you!”

“The Hell you doin’ Topside?”

“Human, remember?”

“No. Not really.”

“Ahhh. What do you remember? Did your angel-”

“I will shoot you.”

“Touchy.”

“Yeah, Well, You know how it is.”

“Yes. Unfortunately I do,” He said thoughtfully. He straightened up, “It’s alright, I can’t stay anyway. I’ve an appointment across town at 6. Here’s my card, though. Call if you need anything. Really. I owe you boys a big one.”

“Um, Okay.” Sam took the proffered card and looked at it like it would bite him.

“See you around, Moose, Squirrel, Tiny Squirrel. You ever want to unload that Bunker, you let me know.”

It was odd not seeing Crowley snap his fingers and disappear to parts unknown. He unhitched the Skeet Launcher from the back of his hideous car, climbed in and drove away like a normal person. “Do you know that guy?” Ben asked. Oh yeah. The kid was still there. Damn. He’d heard everything, hadn’t he? “Not anymore. Let’s get this thing down to the lake.”

Thankfully, Ben dropped it and they spent the rest of the day playing with their new favorite toy down by the lake.

* * *

Ben dropped into bed exhausted. At least he remembered to put on his pajamas tonight. Yesterday he hadn’t. The night before last, he’d slept in the dirt. Even so, Ben couldn’t fall asleep. He spent a good couple hours staring at the ceiling before he slid to the floor beside his bed and fished the old photo out of the steamer trunk. He got back in bed and imagined who the man was. The possibilities were endless.

Slam!

The screen door opened. Ben rolled over and sighed. Was this a nightly occurrence? Is that why Dean’s midnight excursions didn’t bother Sam? Whatever, they bothered Ben. He was trying to have a perfectly normal conversation with a photograph after all. He turned down the wick in his lantern and dragged himself downstairs. Dean didn’t have a plunger this time. He just stood on the dock and stared out at the water. Ben couldn’t even tell if he was awake. “Uncle Dean?” he called quietly. No response. Ben inched closer and reached out to touch his shoulder.

A hand grabbed Ben’s shoulder and he jumped about ten feet in the air. It was just Sam. “It’s alright,” He nodded at Dean. “I tried to wake him once. He nearly tore my head off.”

Ben hoped he didn’t mean that literally. Dean could definitely do that. Thankfully, Sam cut off the terrifying mental images with an arm around his shoulders and a “What are you doing out here so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“That much was obvious.” Sam handed him a small stack of firewood from a pile next to the barn and they made their way back to the water’s edge.

“What about you?” Ben finally asked.

“What about me?”

“What are you doing out here so late?”

Sam shrugged, his face suddenly thoughtful. “Watching him.” He nodded toward the little sandy beach and dropped the firewood. Dean just stared out at the lake with unseeing eyes. "Don't want him to fall in or anything." Sam's eyes were distant as he piled the wood around a short stack of kindling.

“What’s he looking for?” Ben asked after a bit.

Sam sighed and looked at Ben with big sad eyes. “Cas,” he said. The way Sam said his name reminded Ben of all the little things that were weird about his uncles. The guns. The “Retirement.” The whole visit from Crowley. The Bunker for God’s sake. Ben wasn’t sure why that simple name held so many answers, but he knew deep down in his soul that it belonged to the man in the photograph upstairs. There were stories here. Better stories than Robinson Crusoe or Frankenstein. This was the kind of thing the boring history teachers didn’t tell you in school. This was real. “Okay. Tell me.”

Sam looked up at him, surprised. “You want me to tell you the story?”

Ben looked around. “What else are we gonna do?”

“You sure?”

Ben gave him an “are you serious” look.

Sam smiled and huffed a laugh. He glanced up at Dean and said, “There's something you have to understand about all this first. See, a man's body may grow old, but inside,his spirit can be just as young and restless as ever. In his day," he tipped his head toward Dean, "He had more spirit than twenty men. My last year of University, Dean showed up at my doorstep with the news that our father had passed. Not that either of us were extremely attached to the man, but he was our dad. We went to the funeral and were about to go our separate ways, but neither of us really wanted to be apart anymore, y’know? We’d grown up real close. Dean practically raised me when we were little and I know it killed him when I left the first time. So when Dean asked if I’d go to Paris with him, I wrote a letter to my girlfriend saying I’d be back in a few months and we were off. Unfortunately, we arrived in France the same time as the Kaiser. The year was Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen...”

* * *

“Dean are you nuts?” Sam burst out. He had to be. This was a bad idea to begin with and if there was a war going on, who knew how long it was before borders started closing?

“Yeah, maybe a little, but you are too, little brother,” Dean said, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. We’ll be careful. They’re just people anyway.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. But the second things go sideways, we get out of here.”

“It’s alright, Sam. I promise, as long as you’re with me, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

Sam almost scoffed. He’d made promises like that before. One look at Dean’s face, though, and Sam knew that this time, he meant it. No matter what. Sam smiled and followed his brother out of the harbor. Just like old times.

They started in Calais and made their way through the countryside. Every now and then they’d come across a job and weren’t completely broke throughout the trip. Grateful housewives and desperate farmers would give them places to stay and a hot meal when the funds ran low. It reminded Sam a lot of when they were younger and would travel the States hunting.

“Wait,” Ben interrupted

* * *

“You were hunters?” 

“Yep.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re THOSE Winchesters?”

“What Winchesters?”

“I should’ve guessed! And, Crowley! That was THE CROWLEY? You shut the Hellgates!”

“Uh, Well, That was a-”

“You guys are famous!”

“No-”

“You’re in the History books and everything!”

“Ben,” Sam started a little desperately, “Whatever you read in those books is probably not true.”

“Then tell me the truth!”

"I thought that was what I was doing.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Anyway, We made our way through the country, picking up jobs and dodging the Kaiser.”

* * *

Boom!

Dean bowled Sam over as the farmhouse exploded. They rolled into the garden behind the barn and tried to avoid debris flying everywhere. Especially the blood. “You okay?” Dean asked. Sam nodded and grabbed for his pistol. The farmer was still around somewhere.

“You Bastards!” came a shout from the barn. “My wife was in there!” The farmer threw himself at them. Sam caught him in a wrestling hold from behind and tried to talk sense into him that he just knew wouldn’t go.

“Sir, your wife has been dead for weeks!”

“I don’t care! I’ll just bring her back again!”

Dean knocked him out with a punch to the jaw. “What’re we gonna do with him?”

“We can’t just leave him here.”

“No shit.”

“You heard him. He’s probably the one who brought her back in the first place.”

“Yeah, I got that, Sammy. What do you want me to do? We can’t just waste him!”

“Why not? He’s a bad guy!”

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“He’s human, Sam!”

“Not all humans are saints!”

“Doesn’t mean we should kill him.”

“I’m not seeing another option.”

Dean's face turned sharp.“Think outside the box, Sam. There are things worse than death.”

Sam smiled as he picked up on Dean’s train of thought.

“I'll get the rope.”

Three days later, they dropped him at the door of an asylum with a note and sufficient evidence of insanity. To be fair, a guy thrashing and screaming about bringing his wife back from the dead with witchcraft and such was pretty crazy. Everyone knows you don’t mess with that shi-

* * *

“Crap”

“You don’t have to censor yourself for me.”

“You’re what, 12?”

“Thirteen,”

“Then too bad, kid.”

“Whatever. What happened next?”

“Well, life went on like that for awhile.”

“You didn’t have any fun?”

Sam leaned in and said with a smile, “There were these girls in Toulon. Twins? And they-“ Sam checked himself. Hard. His eyes widened in horror and he swallowed, “Dean made some friends with some soldiers. One night they insisted on buying us some drinks.” 

* * *

“Dean…”

“Aw, C’mon, Sammy! Lighten up a little!”

“This wine smells funny, though.”

“Uh, Yeah. Cuz it’s wine. When in Rome and all that!”

“You sure about this?” Dean grabbed his cup and downed the wine while Sam sat and sipped at his.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” One of the soldiers asked.

“He’s the only one allowed to call me that.”

“My mistake.”

“Wine’s just not my thing, you know?”

“I hear you man. Here. Whiskey.”

Sam sighed and took the proffered tumbler. He sniffed. Maybe it was the smoky air, but every fiber in his being was telling him not to drink. He shrugged and downed it all in one fell swoop anyway.  Next thing they knew, Sam and Dean were mind numbingly drunk, and the tiny voices at the back of their minds had been utterly silenced. They kept going until they passed out.  

Sam groaned and rolled to the other side of his bunk. He pressed his pillow to his head and tried to make the world stop pitching and rolling. A gull screamed just outside his window. Waves crashed nearby. Somehow, they'd gotten down to the docks. Not surprising, given their little escapade last night. Sam reminded himself to give Dean Hell for trusting dumbasses with free booze. Even though he was just as blameworthy as Dean.  A blast from a ship's horn jolted him out of bed. He looked around at his surroundings. There was Dean, still dead to the world, and there were the soldiers from last night, and there were at least sixty other men in the room. Oh. Oh no. Sam looked frantically out the window at- the Atlantic Freaking Ocean. "Dean..." He reached out and shook his brother. "Dean!"

“I don’t wanna pick my own potatoes!” Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. Whatever dream he was having, Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Dean looked around and took in his surroundings. “Oh, Shit.”

“Bon Jour, mon Filles!” Came a booming voice from the door. A rough sailor stood in the door. “Bienvenue a la Legion Etrangere Francais!” Sam’s heart sank to his stomach. The French Foreign Legion essentially operated by legal Piracy. He and Dean had just failed completely at avoiding the Great War. Dean looked like he was going to be sick. He turned to Sam, guilt all over his face.

“It’s all my fault, Sam.”

“No, It’s not.”

“C’mon, man.”

“Dean! It’s not your fault! It’s not my fault! It’s our fault!”

“I promised nothing would happen to you! I failed!”

“Look, if nothing ever happened to me, Do you have any idea how bored I’d be?”

“You’d be safe at home with Jess!"

"And what? Two point five kids, a dog and a healthy investment in the stock market?”

"You'd have the good life." 

"Heh. Give it fifteen years."

"Still."

“I agreed to come along.”

“Fine. But I’m keeping you safe ‘til we get out of here.”

* * *

“And he did keep me safe. Well, as safe as you can be in the middle of a World War. We fought many battles, human and inhuman, against incredible odds.”  

“That sounds… awful.”

“I won’t lie to you, it wasn’t exactly a picnic. But there was something about it,” Sam paused. “It was- it felt pure.”

* * *

A shell exploded next to Sam's face as he fought hand to sword with three Vampire soldiers. It threw them all into a trench. He shoved himself out from under his now dead enemies and fought his way to the end of the trench until he was covered in blood and exhausted. He found a wall, praying it was clear and collapsed behind it. Nearby, a horse whinnied and Sam's breath caught in his throat. He peeked out from behind the wall. There was Dean on his horse, Impala, black as night with her silver cavalry hardware shining in the firelight. Dean’s sword flashed and another shell went off. They leapt in front of the blast and jumped the wall. Dean looked down and held out his hand, "Come on, Sammy!" Sam gripped his arm hard and clung to his big brother until they found their way back to camp.

* * *

"After the war, Dean and I took to hunting again, this time in Africa. We did a few odd jobs on our own every now and then, but we always wound up back together eventually."

"What kind of odd jobs?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "I wound up leading safaris mostly. Y'know, for celebrities and Hollywood folk who didn't know any better and wanted to 'get lost on an exotic adventure.' But Dean, he went a little crazy. He wanted to put an end to the slave trade."

* * *

He accompanied Dean on one of his so-called "freedom runs". More like suicide runs. He didn't even take a pistol with him. Just a sword. He ran one slaver through and flicked the keys off another's belt. Sam made a dash for them and put himself on " chain duty" while Dean took care of the rest. The prisoners were in awe of Dean. He slashed and parried and danced out of harm's way. No one fought like this. Not even in the war. Only Dean fought like this. Like he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He put himself in harm's way just to dance his way out of it again. That's just how he lived. And no one, not slave trader, Bedouin, monster, or myth, had ever seen anything like this Mad American who fought like twenty men.

* * *

"Hey!"

Sam and Ben looked up to see Dean staring down at them.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Just enjoying the cool night air," Sam said.

Dean looked a little lost. "Neither one of ya got a lick of sense. Go to bed."

Sam grimaced at Ben and kicked out the embers of the fire. Ben fell asleep that night to the images of horses and fire, swords and angels.

* * *

The next weeks, Ben discovered he had opened a can of worms by getting Sam and Dean to look at whatever the traveling salesman of the day would bring. Dean threw his hands up in exasperation when Sam perused a trunk full of garden seeds. Sam rolled his eyes when Dean wanted a new set of knives for the kitchen. Ben just sat back and watched the antics unfold. He helped Sam in the garden and Dean in the kitchen and both of them in the barn working on some old piece of equipment or another. Dean set up some cans behind the barn and introduced Ben to the "Winchester Firearms Intensive Class." Ben's entire upper body hurt something fierce and he missed all the cans, but he never grabbed for his support arm again.

He made a daily run to the end of the drive with the dogs- and the freaking pig- for the mail. It was mostly just catalogues and requests for salesmen, but today there was a letter. For him. From his mom. He almost dropped everything else right there at the end of the drive. Excitement and a tiny twinge of apprehension washed him as he sprinted back to the house. He didn't even make it inside. Just dropped the mail on the porch and flopped in one of the rockers and ripped open the letter like it contained his very lifeblood.

    Dear Ben,

          How are you, baby? Found your uncles' money yet? Here I am at school in Kansas City...

Ben didn't bother to read further. He swallowed and checked the post mark on the envelope. Really, that should've been his first move. And there it was, plain as day. Las Vegas, NV. Ben blinked hard and sank back in the rocker, trying to disappear. He didn't see Sam behind him, watching through the screen door with what Dean (and Ben) would call "the puppy dog look". He did however, hear Dean bitching about whatever the hell Sam had bought this time. "You can't make me wear this! I look like a damn sharecropper!"

"We're gardeners." Sam said ever so patiently as he practically pushed his brother out the door. They were both in matching pairs of overall, white linen shirts, and straw hats. "This is what gardeners wear." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam ignored him and told Ben in no uncertain terms, "I bought you some clothes too, they're in your room." And they were out to the now sprouting garden.

Ben hid the letter in the trunk with Cas's picture. He liked to think Cas could hear him, so he pulled on his clothes and poured out all his issues to the picture in the trunk. “Is it really so selfish to want my own mom to tell me the truth for once?  

Amazingly, by the time he went back down to join his uncles, he was actually not on the verge of tears. And by the time he was helping Sam and Dean meticulously pick every single imaginary weed in the completely perfect looking garden rows, Ben was downright happy listening to the brothers continuing their everlasting and daily saga, "Why the Hell are We Gardening, We Are Men?"

"Just think how good all these vegetables are gonna taste," Sam was saying. " Beets, Tomatoes, Carrots..." Ben listened halfheartedly to the list until- something wasn't right. He stopped hacking at the soil and looked down the rows. "What's in this row?" He interrupted Sam's drone.

Sam looked at the post at the end, "Potatoes."

Ben moved one row down, "and what about this row?"

"Beets."

Dean stopped and looked up for a second.

"And this one?"

"Tomatoes."

"Tomatoes?" Dean caught on real fast after that and muttered, "Wait just a damn minute." And dropped his hoe. He went down the rows and listed off the veggies. None of which looked like the little picture on the stake. "Beans, beets, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, bok choy- Bok Choy, what the Hell?" He looked at Sam, who was still completely mystified. Ben pointed at the last row. "That one looks right."

"Yeah, well this is corn," Dean said. Realization finally dawned on all three of them. Sam admitted softly, "those seeds did look a lot alike."

"Yeah, like corn." Dean shook his head in disbelief, ”You have a college degree, Sam!” Ben just looked on in amusement. Garden time was by far his favorite part of the day.

A horn blared in front of the house and Dean immediately dropped his hoe and ran to the front of the house hollering, "That's for me! That's mine!" Like a little kid. Sam wasn't far behind. "Kid, sign for that, will ya?"

Ben dropped his own hoe and ran to sign for the latest catalogue order. Whatever it was.

Ben stopped short as he rounded the barn. An honest-to-god giraffe sat on the end of a flatbed truck, it's head stuck out of a giant crate. A lion roared from somewhere else on the truck and two tired delivery men maneuvered a particularly big crate to the ground. Ben signed the paper offered to him and walked up to peek in one of the crates. A paw swiped out at him with a loud growl. Ben jumped back. "Careful kid, he's a man eater." Said one delivery guy. The other leaned on the crate and popped his gum, "We brought your hellhound." Like he did this every day. "Where do you want it?" Ben pointed numbly to a giant oak tree by the bunker. He sat in the suddenly freezing shade next to the crate while the delivery men loaded up the flatbed again.

The screen doors swung open and Sam and Dean strode outside, heads held high. With long barreled hunting rifles and linen hunting garb. They looked so much more comfortable that when they were in their gardening getups. And younger. And they were terrifying.

They stopped in front of the crate and bent down to inspect it.

"You're gonna shoot it?"

"Welp, be seeing ya." The delivery guy said. They left about as abruptly as they came, blowing dust in their wake.

"Dean," Sam started with a dark glee, "This is the best idea you've ever had."  

"Well, its head will look real good hanging over our fireplace."

"You don't have a fireplace," Ben said pointedly. Always focused on the important things.

"Then we'll buy one." Dean said. Of course they would. He stepped forward and indicated an iron latch etched with devil's traps and Ben could see the salt cured into it. "This crate's been painted with goofer dust. It's making that devil in there weak." He held up a shell like no bullet he'd ever seen. "We melted down some angel blades and filled them with consecrated iron, carved them with devil's traps, and forged them in holy fire. You don't have to worry about this thing getting you. When I give the word, you pull this latch and you stand under that tree. She's a Holy Oak, so you'll be fine. Ready?" Ben nodded. He hadn't seen this side of Dean outside his sleepwalking escapades and Sam's story. Here was the man who fought like twenty men. Who hunted his way across France and closed the gates of Hell. He talked about the hardware and the logistics of everything as if he was the one who thought it all up. He probably did. Behind him, Sam looked determined and just as dangerous as his brother.

Dean stepped back with Sam and they cocked their guns in synch. Like they did when Crowley rolled up the driveway all that time ago. Only this time, there was menace behind their eyes. Ben felt a little sick to his stomach. Hellhounds had been cut off from Hell a long time ago and had since become an endangered species. He'd seen one in a circus when he was little. It hadn't seemed too evil then. Not that Ben knew much about Hellhounds anyway, but, "I don't think this is very sporting," he squeaked out. His uncles ignored him.

"Now!" Ben pulled the latch and threw himself at the tree, clinging to the trunk for dear life. Nothing happened. Ben was sure he was dead for a full minute before Dean said, "Hey. Come on. Get out of there."

"Hey," Sam whistled, "you in the crate."

Ben turned to see a giant black dog with razor sharp teeth and a terrifying physique just lying in the crate like it was the only thing it could do. It lifted its head and yawned before curling up with its back to them. Ben inched forward for a better look. Sam looked at Dean and sighed, "This Hellhound is no good! It's defective."

"A Hellhound is a Hellhound."

Dean lifted his weapon.

"Looks kinda old," Ben observed helpfully.

Dean lowered his gun. Sam threw his hands in the air, "Even better! Some sick circus reject."

They stood there for a few minutes. Sam and Dean deciding what they were gonna do with the thing until Ben worked up the guts to ask,"So...can I keep it?"

Sam and Dean looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind. Maybe he had, but he plowed on, "I'll feed it and take care of it... You won't have to do a thing!"

"So, kid. You want to care for this monster?" Dean asked incredulously. "Nurse it back to health?" Ben nodded enthusiastically. Best story ever! "Fine. Then we'll shoot it."

Dean stalked back to the house. Sam followed and nudged his brother’s shoulder,"That's some hellhound you bought."

"Those were some garden seeds you bought," Dean shot back. They bickered all the way back into the house.

Ben had never been happier. He'd never had a pet of his own before. Even if it was a soul eating hideous beast of death. He scampered into the barn and wondered if hellhounds liked beef.

* * *

Dean and Sam settled on the porch to watch Ben work. They kept their guns close by. It was a hellhound after all. "We should name it Growley." Sam said as he plunked down a pitcher of tea and began slicing a lemon with a hunting knife. "Nah,” Dean said absently, ”It's Ben's goddamn hellhound. Let him call it what he wants."

"We have some extra souls in the bunker, right?"

"Yeah, but who knows what that'll do to it."

"Hey. How come when we were growing up you never let me get a dog but this kid shows up and you give him a hellhound?"

"You have six dogs and a pig, Sam."

"I'm just saying, you're getting soft in your old age, brother."

Dean sighed and sipped his tea rather than answer. Out in the yard, Ben had taken a few slats out of the crate so the thing could see out. Honestly, it didn't act like a Hellhound should. Maybe it was a hybrid. Maybe Hell had been closed so long the hellhounds left on Earth became... Less... Hellish. Like Crowley. Maybe they were just giant ugly dogs now.

Ben came tromping up the porch steps and collapsed in his chair, admiring his handiwork.

"How's that hellhound, kid?" Dean asked automatically.

"He's really neat actually. Did you know he has blue eyes?"

"He?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. It's a boy hellhound."

Now how had he figured that out? "I named him Cas," Ben went on.

Oh. He named him- "What did you say?"

"Cas."

Oh Hell no. There were only two or three people besides Dean himself still alive who even knew that name. One who knew exactly what it meant. He could have wrung Sam's neck right there. Dean considered slapping Ben silly. Instead, he bolted out of his chair and stormed inside, slamming the door behind him. He vaguely heard Ben try to save his own ass, "it seemed like a good name. For a hellhound." Yeah freaking right. At that minute, Dean realized he wasn't breathing. He dropped down on his mattress and put his head between his knees. Breathe. Come on. Slowly, he pulled in a shaky breath. Then another. And another. It was only then he realized he was crying. He buried his head in his pillow and cried himself to sleep. He dreamt of blue eyes and black wings.

* * *

Dean slammed the door. Ben got up to go after him and apologize, but Sam shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Just, let him be for awhile.”

Ben slumped back in his chair and looked out at the yard just as Cas the Hellhound let out a mighty howl. It sent a shiver down his spine, but it didn’t feel as evil as he thought it would.

“I guess prolonged time out of the Pit is good for everyone then,” Sam said thoughtfully, “They’re just scary dogs now.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Was it, now?”

“What? I read.”

“You sure are sassy, you know that?”

“Learned from the best.”

“Uh huh.”

“You never finished the rest of that story.”

“You don’t really believe all this Africa stuff.”

“It’s a good story," Ben shrugged. 

“Fair enough. Where was I?”

Ben thought hard for a minute and quoted, “No one. Not slave trader, Bedouin, monster, or myth, had ever seen anything like this Mad American who fought like twenty men.”

Sam laughed, “Okay then. Well...”

* * *

Sam looked for a place to jump in and help Dean, but he had His own problems to deal with. For one, Sam spoke French, German, Latin, and Spanish. Not Arabic. That was Dean. And Dean was currently busy. So convincing these poor, malnourished, chained up people that they were the good guys was an issue. For another, all the commotion and the blood and the death was bound to draw wild animals and...things. When you went around causing trouble with a big name like Winchester attached to you, the monsters took notice. And not just the Supernatural ones. Sam kept up his guard duty and tried to get across in every language he knew that yes, they were here to help. Most of the people fled the second they got free. Sam sighed. Round up duty was not his favorite past time. Especially when you were trying to convince people that yes, they were free, but no, if you run off you’re putting yourself in more danger. Let us help you. Dean knocked the last bad guy out and relieved Sam to put the bad guys under arrest.

“Hey!” he barked out in Arabic. “You all need to relax! We are here to help!”

Commotion broke out that Sam couldn’t quite catch. Hysteria rose and rose until one of the men pushed another and clocked a guy over the head with one of his wrist irons and made a break for it. Sam was gearing for another fight. Dean rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword. Sam didn’t have time to freak out about his brother’s stupid Heroics. He slapped irons on the last guy and made a beeline for the panicking crowd of newly freed slaves. As he got closer he caught a few phrases, “They’ll just take us back!” “White men never mean well!”

BANG!

Everyone turned. There was Dean holding a pistol above his head. “Alright! That’s enough!”

The gunshot was enough to shut everyone up. The look on his face kept everyone quiet. “If you want to see your families again, you need to calm down.”

“Our families sold us! Where will we go?”

“Listen, we got a friend. Get you back on your feet. No one has nowhere to go. We’ll help you out, okay?”

“Bullshit.”

“Why should we believe you? Because you’re American?”

“God, no,” Dean scoffed.

“Then why?”

Sam spoke up, “Cuz we’ve been where you are. We are here to help you. Really. We will get you where you want to be if it kills us.”

That was all the little herd needed, apparently. And they were as good as their word. They relocated everyone either back home or to new horizons. Sam went back to his safaris and tours, Dean went right back to his freelance work and they met up every now and then for a hunt. Little did they know that one of the slaves they rescued that day was the servant of a powerful individual. When he heard of the great deeds done by the tall Americans and their friends, he was pleased and grateful, to say the least. “I must thank these men,” he said and set about finding them.

* * *

 Dean loved his horse almost as much as his brother. Sam understood. She kept them warm when they were on the run. She was fast and smart and pretty much the only family they had outside of the legion and whoever didn’t think them dead back in America. The Winchesters were known for their hunting and heroics and Impala was just as important to the stories as the brothers. So when he had a day off, Dean would ride. It was widely considered that he was the best horseman in North Africa and not without reason.

One day a white horse pulled up beside him as he rode along the coast. The rider was dressed in black, head to toe. Given Dean’s reputation as a rider and Impala’s reputation as a horse, it was surprising when the nameless rival kept pace with them. Stride for stride. The race stretched for furlong after furlong.  They were neck and neck the whole time until the white horse misstepped.

* * *

“Not Impala?”

Sam snorted,“‘Course not. Impala never put a foot wrong. Ever.”

“Sorry.”

“You never met her. She liked me well enough, but she was Dean’s horse first and last.”

Ben didn’t know what to say to that. Sam continued, “Anyway, the white horse misstepped. The horses collided, and both riders went flying into the sea.”

* * *

Dean leapt up and went for his knife, ready for anything. The rider appeared right in front of him. Dean didn’t think. He just stabbed. The rider calmly pulled the knife out and handed it back, unwinding the turban they wore over their face. “I mean you no harm, Dean Winchester,” the man said, finally pulling the cloth free to reveal a pair of smiling blue eyes in an almost birdlike face.

“What are you?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“My name is Castiel. I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

“Bullshit.”

“I wished to thank you for returning Hannah to me. She is a dear friend and a valued member of my house.”

“Well good on you, mister.”

“How can I reward you, Dean? Tell me.”

“We don’t do this for a reward.”

“Regardless, I am indebted to you.”

“Listen. Cas. I’m glad my brother and I could help you out, but really, it’s all in a day’s work.”

“I insist. Even if you cannot think of anything right now, you need but call me. Wherever you are, whatever you need, I will come to you.”

Dean stabbed Castiel in the chest one more time for good measure. “I’ll take a raincheck, thanks.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Fine. As long as you’re not gonna shanghai me into mercenarism. Been there done that.”

“I promise.”

Most people think that fairy tales and things are just stories and legends. But Dean and I have dealt with stories and legend our whole lives. Most of them are bad. But every now and then, you’ll have a good one hit you like a slap in the face. And this one was the best kind. It was Love at First Stab.

* * *

“Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Dean and- and Cas?”

“Ben, it’s late.”

“Aw, c’mon, Uncle Sam!”

“It’s been a long day. Go to bed.”

Ben didn’t sulk. He didn’t pout. He deflated. Sam finally understood what Dean had always meant by puppy eyes. “I promise we’ll finish the story, Ben. But not right now.”

“Ok.” Ben dragged himself up to his room and left Sam on the porch. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

* * *

The next week found the three of them on an adventure. To the local feed store. An old farmer met them after they backed their old pickup up to the loading bay and had them sign a slip. "Y'know,” He said by way of conversation,” In all my years, I've never had a call for this. Purina Hellhound Chow. Who woulda thought?" Sam just smiled politely and signed where the man indicated, pointedly not rising to his veiled request for an explanation. If they were tight lipped with their own family about their eccentricities, they were downright maddening with the local townsfolk. Oh, sure, most people thought they were just harmless old men, but add a couple hundred million dollars and a secret past, and boom! Suddenly they were everything from aliens to asylum escapees. No one ever suspected that the best story would be the true one. Sam shrugged it off and kept a watchful eye as Dean hauled two fifty pound bags onto his shoulder and tossed them in the back of the truck. Sam kept it light and only grabbed one at a time. He leg Ben help drag a few to the edge of the dock before the kid was exhausted. Sam made a mental note to get some more meat on that kid's bones before he had to go back to his mother. It wasn't right that a kid should be so skinny. He decided to let Dean have the last few bags to himself and hopped off the dock to stand next to Ben. Dean slammed the tailgate shut and slid off the edge of the dock a couple minutes later. Sam helped Ben into the cab while Dean jabbered good naturedly, "If you ladies are finished, I'll take ya home now." There was a scuffle and a thud. Dean did not get in the truck. "Dean?" Sam asked and tried not to panic as he came around the front to check on him. "Oh God." Dean was unconscious.

* * *

 

They were at the hospital ten minutes later. Dean had had a heart attack. Sam paced back and forth outside the hospital room muttering about bacon cheeseburgers and fried pickles chips. Ben sat on a hard wooden bench watching until he couldn't take Sam's restlessness anymore so he went in search of a water fountain.

He found one at the end of the hall. He took a deep breath and bent over the cool stream. "Psst."

Ben looked around.

"Psst!"

A middle aged woman sat on a bench around the corner. She waved at him and turned around as if she didn't want to be seen. Ben leaned around the corner to get a better look. "Are you with those Winchester brothers?" She stage whispered. Ben nodded. "I hear they're on the run with millions they stole from Al Capone!" She fixed him with a worried gaze. "Be careful!" She mouthed at him. Ben just nodded and ambled back to where Uncle Sam had collapsed onto their bench from worry. No way were they gangsters. Well, Ben could see it, but he liked the Africa stories better. And Sam told good stories. And there was Cas's picture. He took a deep breath and plunked down next to Sam who was staring off into the middle distance. For a couple macho assholes, Sam and Dean sure did wear their hearts on their sleeves. He supposed someone needed to Finally, he turned to Sam, “Tell me more about Africa? About you and Uncle Dean and Cas…” Sam looked at him with a sad smile and huffed a breath. “After that initial meeting, Dean and Cas were practically inseparable…”

* * *

It should be noted that Dean was not exactly keen on the whole “inseparable” situation. Dean was an honorable man in his own right, but Castiel’s position on Earth and the way his Garrison was run made Dean’s “Code of Hunter Etiquette” look like untouchable filth.

So when Castiel said “Allow me to repay you” he meant “I am honor bound to guard you with my life until I save your life as you have saved mine.” Dean meant lunch.

When he failed to get rid of the angel on his shoulder, he put him to good use. They went on hunts with Sam, where Castiel proved himself an invaluable resource. They took “freedom runs” where Cas proved himself to be at least twice as handy with a sword as Dean (he’d been studying the art since the literal dawn of time). In between, Dean lectured Cas on the merits of personal space and Cas lectured Dean on the importance of Duty and Honor.

“What, like ‘God and Country’?”

“That is where you get the saying from, yes.”

“Cas, you take all of this a little too seriously, you know?”

“No, I ‘don’t know’ Dean.”

“You need to get laid, man.”

“What?”

“Seriously? All those nice ladies you employ and not once-”

“Dean, that’s dishonorable!”

“Oh my God, OF COURSE IT IS! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE!!!”

“That is not how-”

“Cas, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, God created sex. And He saw that it was damn good. So live a little! What if it was your last night on earth?”

“It’s not my last night on earth.”

“But if it was.”

“I would prefer to sit quietly and reflect on my life, not engage in...debauchery.”

Dean threw his hands in the air and stalked out of the room.

And life went on like that. Castiel was an aloof kind of fella, but he stuck to Dean like shine on a shoe. Dean would never admit it to Sam (out loud), but he got used to having a feathered shadow around. In fact, Dean considered Castiel to be one of his closest friends. Family, even.

Then one day, Cas didn’t show up for a hunt. Dean was distraught. Cas didn’t answer his prayers (and he ALWAYS found a way to communicate with Dean). He appeared to Dean in a dream once and told him not to look for him, which was a surefire way to get him to do just that. Dean prayed to Castiel every day, every night, worried sick over his friend. He got more and more reckless no matter what Sam did to get his mind off it.

Then one night, Cas appeared right in front of him.

“What the Hell, Cas?”

“Quite the opposite, really,” Cas said.

“Ha fucking ha. Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

“Bullshit.”

“Whether or not it is the consistency of bovine excrement is none of your concern.”

“Whatever, man. Are you back?”

“Dean-”

“What?”

“I am not a dog who will just come when you call.”

“I never asked you to.”

“But you expect it.”

“What can I say? I’m spoiled.”

“Dean.”

“What? You came after me, remember?”

“A mistake I will not make in the future.”

Dean recoiled as if he’d been slapped. This was not his Cas. “Talk to me, Cas.”

“I have been reassigned.”

“Why?”

“I was getting too close to the humans under my care. You.”

“So, what? Your bosses found out about your little life pact and hauled you off to Seminary?”

“Something like that.” Cas sighed and looked incredibly weary for an immortal being.

“Cas. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“Okay. But-”

“But what?”

“You’d tell us if you weren’t, right? Y’know Sammy and me, we got connections. You’re family, okay? You say the word, and we’re there.”

“And what can two humans do against the might of Heaven?”

“You know, I’m getting real sick of all this ‘humans as second class creations’ crap. You know that Bible thing you guys are always telling us to read? It calls us humans ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ you know that right? Emphasis on the fearful.”

“Nevertheless.”

“What?”

“Dean, you yourself have fought in a war. As has your brother, and your father, and your grandfather before him. You have fought against insurmountable odds and won. You have been the insurmountable odds and lost. You have fought monsters both supernatural and completely human. You know the importance of tactics and strategy as well as the need to be flexible. And you know the necessity of keeping things close to your chest.” Cas lifted a hand and touched Dean as he said it. He cried out in pain and doubled over.

“What the Hell, Man?”

“You are now undetectable to the Host. Including me.”

“What for?”

“I am not at liberty to say, Dean.”

“So this is it? No more random pop ups? What if we need you?”

“I’m sorry, Dean. This is the only way.”

“For what?” The look in his eyes told him everything. This was the only way to keep Dean- and Sam, but mostly Dean- safe. From what, neither of them could say and Cas looked as if he was about to go to his grave. “You better pop in on Sam, okay?” Dean said, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled a quick message and handed it to him. “That’s where he is right now. Taking some rich asshole up the Nile to see some water spirit or some shit.”

Cas looked at the scribble and nodded once before turning to go. “Dean,” he said over his shoulder. “No matter what happens to me I will always hear your prayers. Even if I cannot come to you, I will be with you in spirit if nothing else.”

“Cas-”

But he was gone and Dean still had no idea what the hell Cas was talking about.

* * *

“Did he come see you?”

“Yup. Did the same thing to my ribs as he did with Dean’s. Scared the shit outta my hunting party.”

* * *

“What the Hell, Cas?”

“I’ve been getting that question a lot recently.”

“Yeah, for good reason! Where have you been?”

“As I told Dean-”

“Well it’s a good thing you saw him first, or I’d have to kill you for putting him in such a state!”

“Would you, Boy?” Cas said in a low, dangerous voice. “How?”

“Not, the point, Cas.”

“Then what, as you say, is the point?”

“You disappeared! We were worried sick! Dean was climbing the walls! We didn’t know if you’d died or worse and your Garrison buddies wouldn’t tell us anything-”

“Sam, I am unable to tell you the inner workings of Heaven.”

“Give me something, man!”

Cas held out a paper with a few scribblings on it. “This is all I can do. Like I said, I can tell you nothing of Heaven’s inner workings. Visit your brother, Sam. He will have need of you.” And with that he was gone.

Sam looked down at the paper and did a double take before turning back to his hunting party and hustling them back to civilisation as fast as humanly possible.

* * *

Two weeks later, Sam slammed that piece of paper on Dean’s desk. “Cas is in trouble.”

“No shit, Sam. But he won’t tell me what’s going on so I can’t freaking help him.”

“Well it’s a good thing you told him to tell me, cuz he’s been strictly ordered against telling you anything.”

“Why?”

“Cuz his superiors know you’ll do something about it.”

“Not you?”

“I’m apparently an ‘abomination’.”

“Ha! See, it’s not just me!”

“Look. You kiss one demon ONE TIME for PURELY HUNT RELATED PURPOSES-”

“Oh, it wasn’t just kissing and you know it.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know she was a demon at the time.”

“Hey. Not judging. Meg was hot. Evil and psycho, but definitely hot. And you know, I can’t blame them for their bigoted, snotty, ass backwards shit when you’ve slept with more dark creatures than probably the entire human race.”

“Not fair.”

“Where is it written that life is fair?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Damn right I do.” He finally snatched up the paper from his desk and glanced over it. The smile dropped off his face. “We need an angel blade, the demon knife and a jug of Holy Oil.”

Sam’s smile turned grim. “Your plan is stupider than I thought it was gonna be.”

“You don’t know me as well as you thought you did, Sammy.” He slipped a dark coat over his shoulders and dug his satchel, two sword belts and a few odds and ends out of a trunk in his bedroom. Sam appeared in the doorway with a clay jug, two flasks of Holy Water, the angel blade and the demon knife. “We have work to do.” Dean slammed the lid of the trunk.

* * *

Castiel’s hands were tied. Literally and figuratively. He was watched no matter what he did or where he went until finally, Zachariah decided to stop beating around the bush and peddling his particular brand of bullshit. The second he left Sam Winchester, Cas found himself in his superior’s office, an angel blade to his throat. “We told you to stop visiting your pets, Castiel.”

“They will be no trouble. I have done you a service.”

“No trouble?” Zachariah barked out. “Have you learned nothing in your acquaintanceship with these pathetic idiots?! The name Winchester is synonymous with trouble! Do you realize how much this Garrison needs this alliance with Rafael? Have you any idea? And you seek to ruin it with this petty friendship!”

“And what, pray, are you going to do about it?”

“Do? Well, since it seems the Winchesters have conveniently dropped off the face of the Earth, there’s only one thing I _can_  do. You leave tonight. Rafael himself will retrieve you and bring you to his compound where you will begin your work as tactician and lieutenant.”

Cas groaned inwardly. He knew very well what was meant by ‘tactician and lieutenant’ and it wasn’t strictly military. Rafael made his way through politics and corruption of every physical kind. He wasn’t to be a soldier. He was to lower himself to the level of the demons. Torture those he was charged with protecting.

“I would rather die.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” came a smooth, deep voice from the doorway. Rafael strode across the room and came to stand in front of Castiel. He was tall. Taller than Sam. And powerful. He was an archangel after all. “You were right, Zachariah. He is perfect for the job.”

“As promised.” Cas couldn’t move. He felt the world squeeze in around him and the immense power of the angel before him stifle his attempts to get free.

“Now, Castiel, don’t be like that. This is for the good of all.” He smiled an empty, awful smile and snapped his fingers.

Cas found himself in a large, opulent room full of worldly riches beyond compare. He paced the room, tried the locked and warded door, and even examined the treasures of the room, but they were merely gold and silver and only for show. He considered throwing himself from the balcony outside, but that was not a viable means of escape and it was warded anyway.  He sank to the floor and formulated a plan. 

* * *

A week later, Castiel disappeared from under Raphael's watchful gaze. He flew into a rage and began ripping apart every province in the region looking for his most coveted slave. What he didn't know was that Cas never left. He'd carved warding symbols into his own chest and watched Raphael intently, waiting for the opportunity to strike. It didn't take long before Sam and Dean Winchester were hauled viciously into Rafael’s chambers and made to kneel. Cas's heart warmed at the sight of them- especially Dean. They'd figured it out. He really was family to them. Cas studied the weapons spread before their captor who examined each object as thoroughly as possible. His eyes rested on the demon killing knife in front of Dean. “How is it that two blundering fools such as yourselves have lived this long?” Raphael drawled irreverently.

“We know a guy,” Dean smirked. Rafael kicked Sam in the gut.

“Where is Castiel?”

“Go to Hell.”

“Sam doesn’t need lungs, does he?” Sam doubled over, gasping desperately. 

“Why do you want to know? He’s just one little Angel.” 

“Do you know why the Angels were stationed on Earth?”

“Does it have to do with how ugly you are?”

“Ooh, a feisty one. Sass will get you nowhere, my friend.”

“You got a funny definition of friendship.”

“I won’t ask you again. Where is Castiel?”

“Right behind you, Assbutt,” Castiel said as blandly as possible.

Fire sprung up around the Archangel. Dean got to his feet. “You got some nerve, buddy. Didn’t you know that you don’t fuck with Winchesters? You okay, Cas?”

Cas reappeared behind Rafael with a jug of Holy Oil and snapped his fingers, restoring Sam’s lungs. “I am well, Dean.” Rafael gaped when Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and scanned him as if to be sure. "God, don't do that to me again!"

"I will endeavour to-" he started, but the air was crushed out of him as Dean pulled him into one of the infamous Winchester hugs. Rafael, all but forgotten by the pair, took in the spectacle with a shrewd gaze.

Sam cleared his throat and commenced with the threatening. "So here's the deal. You come after my family again, you die. You try anything like this again, we'll deep fry you extra crispy and introduce some friends of ours to American fried chicken. Clear?" Rafael nodded. He may be a slimy bastard, but he was an angel. And angels followed a code of honor. So did the Winchesters. With the knowledge that they put the fear of God into the Angels of the Lord, Sam, Dean, and Cas mounted their horses and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Sam made the connection later that night. Dean and Cas danced around each other and didn’t say much. These two people had, not two weeks before, been literally tearing the world apart trying to get back to each other. Now that they were there, though, it was evident they hadn’t planned that far in advance. Finally, Sam was fed up with it and burst out, “Will you just kiss already?”

“What?”

Sam narrowed his eyes.“I am not repeating myself. I’m tired of watching you two make yourselves miserable over each other. If things haven’t changed by the time I get back in the morning, I will kill you both myself,” He stood, took three books from the office, and slammed the door behind him on the way out. He leaned against the door and smiled. 

* * *

 

 

“Everyone settled down, life went on, and they lived happily ever after. The end,” Sam rushed.

Ben looked up at Sam, shocked. “No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not how it ends.”

“Yes, Ben, it is.”

“But, if that was it, they’d still be together and Cas’d be with us right now, right?”

Sam shook himself out of his reverie and called down the hall, “Nurse? What’s going on? Wish they’d tell us something.”

And that was that. There was no getting past Sam’s walls once they went up. Besides. Ben was just as worried as Sam. He looked down, a little ashamed at putting his great uncle through what were obviously painful memories.

A bedpan came flying out of Dean’s room, almost knocking a doctor unconscious. 

“Where’s my pants?! Where ARE THOSE- WHERE’S MY PANTS?!?!” Dean came whirling out of the room in a hospital gown, flailing his pants in one hand and ripping an IV out of his arm with the other. He threw the IV stand down the hall, still screaming, “I’M NOT A DAMN- WHO PUT ME IN HERE?!” Then he caught sight of Sam and Ben. “YOU TWO!” He pointed accusingly. They sat up rigidly on the bench and shook their heads innocently.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, having been called about their relatives being in hospital, Gwen, Christian and their three brats stuck their heads into what they had been told was Dean’s hospital room. It was empty. “Excuse me, doctor?” she asked sweetly,”Where’s Mr. Winchester?”

“He’s gone,” the man said shortly.

Well if that wasn’t joy to Gwen’s ears. She suppressed a smile and tried to act sympathetic, “Well, he led a long, full life.”

The doctor rolled his eyes and said, “No, he’s gone. He left. Mr. Winchester checked himself out.”

“Left?!” Would these guys just not DIE? She dumped the houseplant she was carrying onto a passing cart of medical supplies and dragged her family behind her.

* * *

Not half an hour after getting out of the hospital for A HEART ATTACK, Dean, Sam, and Ben sat in a little general store eating barbecue ribs, beer, and in Ben’s case, root beer. Dean was bitching about being old, as usual, as if Sam wasn’t in the same damn boat that he was. He didn’t want to keep having the same fight over and over again so he just shrugged and let him go. After all, Sam knew that it wasn’t really about him anyway. It was Dean’s way of dealing. Sam gardened, Dean bitched. “I mean, what’s happened to the honor nowadays? Folks these days don’t know the meaning of the damn word! You work for what you get, you pay your dues, and you don’t take shit from anyone.”

“Mmhmm,” Sam agreed, his mouth full of ribs.

As if on cue, a car full of greasers pulled up, music blaring. No doubt looking for a cheap drink and a good time, no matter who suffered for it. They started banging around the store, grabbed a case of beer from the fridge and a couple packs of cigarettes, chatting loudly about which girls they were hooking up with later. Then the ringleader- he had to be the ringleader, he had a leather jacket and the most hair grease- spotted them. Sam, Ben, and Dean kept to themselves, or tried to. The little twerp swaggered over to them and though they didn’t make eye contact, he came up to Dean’s side and began jabbering away. Dean didn’t answer, but Sam saw the set of his shoulders, the tense jaw, and the look in his eyes. That was a look very few people survived. “Hey, old man. How’s that barbecue? Gimme some.” He reached out and grabbed for a piece of Dean’s food. Dean brushed the kid’s hand away and said, by way of warning, “We’re busy, son. Why don’t you just move along?” Well the kid was obviously not used to being ignored and went back over to his buddies, not knowing what to do with himself. But Dean wasn’t done yet and said in Sam’s direction, “See this is exactly what I’ve been talking about. Ever since this kid was suckin’ at his mama’s tit, he’s been given everything he’s ever wanted without question and now he has no concept of honor, no manners, nothing better to do with his time than go around harassing old men who just want a quiet lunch.”

Well that was too much for the little upstart. Sam saw where this was going real fast and resigned himself to it. Dean turned back to his food, but the little wannabe was right there. “Hey! Who do you think you are?” Well he obviously didn’t know the meaning of what he’d just asked or who he’d asked it to and Dean was the one to show him where he’d gone wrong. Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and muttered in his ear, “Just a dumb kid, Dean. Don’t kill him.”

“Right.” Quick as a snake, his huge hand was around the kid’s scrawny neck. He stood to his full height and addressed the whole gang.

“I am Dean Winchester. I fought two world wars and countless smaller ones on three continents using everything from swords and horses to infantry and TANKS. I’ve seen the headwaters of the Nile and had dinner with people no white man had ever seen before. I’ve been to the Gates of Hell themselves and hurled Satan into their depths with my bare hands. I’ve won and lost a dozen fortunes, KILLED MANY MEN, and loved only one with a passion a FLEA like you could never understand. That’s who I am. Now GO HOME BOY!” He tossed the kid to the ground at his little friends’ feet.

Obviously, that speech didn’t have the intended impact. Or maybe it did, because the kid scrambled to his feet and dug a measly little pocket knife from his trousers. He quealed to his buddies, “We’re not gonna let this old bastard talk to us like that, get out your knives!” Then came the sound of their knives opening up.

Flick, flick, flick, flick.

Ka-Chuk.

Everyone looked up at the door to see Sam aiming a shotgun in their direction. He said placidly, “Now boys, you’re gonna let those teenage hormones get the best of you and it’s gonna cause you a bit of trouble.”

Dean turned back, obviously annoyed that Sam felt he had intervened on his fun. “Dean, you’ve just come out of the hospital.”

Dean looked back over his shoulder at the upstarts. “Well, there’s only four of ‘em.”

Sam gestured to the ringleader and said, “Look, I’ll let you fight this one, and then I’ll let you fight the other three. Okay?”

“Yeah,” He hadn’t fought like this in years, except sparring with Sam. This was gonna be good. He looked past Sam to Ben, “Watch this, kid.” When he turned around, the ringleader, who his buddies were calling “Frankie” (Typical) charged Dean. He telegraphed his moves something fierce and Dean didn’t even flinch. Just caught the kid’s arm and bent it back to shouts of “Oh My God, You’re gonna break his arm!” As if by picking fights, there was no chance of getting hurt themselves. Bullies. Dean let him go and picked up Frankie’s dropped knife. “You’re holding it all wrong, son.” He held it overhand like the kids had and jabbed down. “Not like this,” He flipped it and held it as if it were a fine sword. “Like this. Smooth.”

Well that was not what Frankie or his crew expected. He tossed the knife back and this time, the kid had to work himself up.

“C’mon Frankie!”

“Cut him, Frankie, Cut him!”

And this time, when the kid charged, he was caught again by the wrist and flipped into a headlock. Sam got tired of watching the kid suffer and called, “You three better get on in there and help him!” He set the shotgun on the bar and went back to his food while Dean happily went about the task of tossing teenagers through doors. It was pitiful, really. Kids these days didn’t know diddly about fighting and wanted to pick fights anyway. Next to him, Ben sat rapt. He’d only seen Dean in imaginary plunger fights and with a gun in his hands. This was real.   
“Aren’t you gonna help him?” He asked Sam.

“Naw, Dean needs them more than I do right now.”

“But there’s four of them!” One greaser went flying out the door and landed in the fancy car. “Okay, three of them.”

Sam caught three knives tossed his way one after the other and one by one put them point first in the bar top. Two crashes followed and Sam happily watched Dean in his element after too long and shouted a, “C’mon Dean!” Two kids crashed into a postcard display and Dean walked up with the last one in a headlock, grabbed his beer, and took a swig. “I’m ready to go home now. Let’s go home.”

All in all, it was a good time. Sam paid a hefty tip and they all piled out to the cars.

* * *

Gwen and Christian pulled up to the farmhouse and everyone piled out. No one was there to greet them with a loving, “Go the Hell Away!” and Gwen turned to look at Christian. “They’re not back yet, Daddy.”

“I’m sure with Dean just out of the hospital, they’re taking their time coming home.”

She accepted the answer. What else could be true? She turned around and shuddered, “Oh, I hate this house! When those two drop dead, I want you to burn this place to the ground.” After they looted it for whatever they could, of course. That included the bunker. The Campbells never had liked the Winchesters much, and they’d all been out of jobs after the Gates of Hell had shut, effectively sealing 85% of the population of evil away forever.

If the rumors were true, and the Campbells never believed rumors, especially ones that made their ridiculous second cousins once removed look good, then they were the reason the entire Hunting community was out of a job.

Gwen and Christian wandered around, speculating where the fabled money was and planning how they were gonna sell the land and develop it and paid no attention to their brood, particularly the boys, who tore things up for the fun of it. They noticed the giant crate under the big tree and literally said, “What’s that?” “I don’t know, Let’s tear it up!” “Yeah!” and ran to investigate and destroy. They took a board from a small pile and made a bigger gap in the frame. A giant black dog laid inside. It wasn’t moving. And it looked like one of the pictures in Mom and Dad’s old books. “What is it?” The little one said. “It’s stuffed!” Came the reply, even though that made no sense whatsoever. They took one step inside and realized their mistake. That Hellhound was not stuffed. It was most definitely alive, and it was not happy that two idiot kids had invaded its space. It growled and snapped, effectively terrifying the boys to no end and they took off running for the house. Cas The Hellhound on the other hand looked outside and saw the corn field. Oh, Glorious Shade! What wonderful hiding spots! He took off for the patch of tall corn and waited for his best friend ever, Ben the food giver, to come find him. 

Back at the house, Gwen and Christian were damn near bowled over by two frantic boys. Without even stopping to think about whether their imaginative babbling was true, Gwen swatted both of their backsides. That’s when Sam and Dean’s truck pulled up, followed by a sleek black hot rod convertible with Dean in the driver’s seat and four beat up teenagers in the back. “Oh, Lord, there’s been an accident,” Gwen groaned. Sam hopped out of the truck followed by Benjamin. Damn, was that kid still hanging around? Sam said instructionally, “Kid, get some meat.” Benjamin nodded once and took off for the kitchen. Gwen and Christian gathered around and were generally unhelpful and curious as Dean hauled one teenager, who was holding his broken nose, to his feet. “I wanna go home now!” He whined.

Dean smirked, “You’re in no shape to go home now!”

Benjamin burst out of the house with a bunch of steaks as Christian burst out, “What the Hell happened?!”

“It was a fight!” the kid yelled, more confident than he’d ever been, “Uncle Dean won, it was awesome!”

Christian and Gwen were struck dumb for the first time ever. Their sons took advantage of their parents’ rare quiet and said, “But the Hellhound!”

Benjamin looked up, reminded, “Cas?” He shoved the steaks into Sam’s hands and took off, “Oh! I forgot to feed him, I’ll be right back!”

“There really was a Hellhound!” their oldest insisted.

One of the teenagers looked up, terrified, “Hellhound?”

Gwen and Christian could hardly believe their ears when Sam replied matter-of-factly, “It’s locked up.”

“No it isn’t,” said their little one, “It tried to eat us.”

“It really did!” snivelled the older one, finally coming to grips with his near death experience. Hellhounds are scary, you know.

Sam and Dean looked up at each other equal parts excited and terrified and burst out, “Get the guns!” and took off for the house, everyone following at a fast clip.

* * *

For whatever reason, Sam and Dean had bottled souls lying around, but Cas preferred ground beef. Ben didn’t pay any attention to the commotion outside as he fetched more meat from the freezer. He darted outside and carefully opened the crate door before dropping in the hunk of hamburger. “Here you go, Ca-” He wasn’t in his crate. “Cas?” He said hesitantly, noticing the huge hole in the side and the board Gwen and Christian’s boys had used to make it. “Oh my God.” Ben looked up and noticed some happy growling in the corn field. “Cas?” He ran to the field and looked in carefully.

* * *

Dean handed out rifles to everyone, even Gwen’s daughter and the boys, while Sam handed out custom bullets. He couldn’t get it out of his head that Ben had just gone to feed the damn thing and what if they were too late? One glance at Sam told him that he was thinking the same thing, but they fought it down out of old Hunter’s habit. He sent up a quick prayer to a God he didn’t believe in and led everyone out of the house single file. There was a howl from the cornfield and Dean saw Ben bent over, looking in the stalks for the hound. OH GOD! A giant black shape loomed out of the garden and knocked the kid over. It looked for all the world like it was mauling him. Dean levelled his rifle at it when Sam stopped him. “Don’t! You might hit him.” Dean saw his point and lifted it away. Then Ben was dragged into the cornfield with the beast. Never mind that this was a wild animal, this was a Hellspawn, and Dean was terrified. Everyone lined up and filed into the cornfield, following the grunts and squeals from somewhere inside. There was a clearing up ahead where the Hellhound had obviously rolled around. When they breached it, Gwen gave a gasp and fainted (and she was not a fainting woman, Dean could tell you that). There was Ben, sitting on top of Cas the Hellhound laughing as he reached his head around to lick Ben’s face. It was impossible to be angry at the sight, especially when Ben looked up and smiled, “He’s feeling a lot better!”

* * *

Gwen found herself being dragged out of the cornfield by two teenage boys and swatted them, resetting her hat on her frazzled head. “We’re leaving,” She said to Sam and Dean imperiously, “And we’re not coming back until you get rid of that monster.” See if they cared. Dean smirked back at Gwen and said, “Well, the Hellhound stays.” Color Gwen shocked. She slapped Christian’s arm, “C’mon, Daddy let’s go.” When he didn’t follow immediately, she grabbed her sons by the collar and shouted, “Daddy!” She piled everyone in the car, indignant and humiliated, but at this point, she didn’t care about the money. Sam and Dean could keep it and the monsters they apparently ordered through the mail.

* * *

Sam was the first to stir after watching their relatives blow off into the distance for the last time. He noticed the boys were still holding their steaks in one hand and their guns in the other. He made the step forward and took the meat from their hands. “You boys staying for supper?”

“What’re we gonna have?” said Frankie. These kids were not bright at all, were they? “Meat! A Lotta Meat! C’mon, make yourselves useful.” He stalked up to the house, all four boys in tow.

Ben watched them go, then looked back to the garden. “He won’t come out of the cornfield,” he said to Dean.

Dean looked pensively at the cornfield, “After the Gates closed, most of the Hounds left topside found refuge in forests and jungles. This is the closest to that he’s ever seen. He knows this is where he belongs.” Ben looked at Dean in awe. He really did live up to Sam’s stories and every day Ben knew him more, he saw that more clearly than ever.

* * *

After dinner, Sam and Ben sat on the porch while Dean gave some final words to the greasers, whose dispositions had done a complete turnaround from their initial meeting that afternoon. Now they were relaxed and comfortable in Dean and Sam’s presence. They respected them and even after just one day of seeing how true heroes functioned, they wanted to emulate them. “What’s he saying to them?” Ben asked Sam.

Sam looked fondly at his brother, “He’s giving them his ‘What every boy needs to know about being a man speech.’ A lot of men have heard that speech. A lot of men.” _Including you?_ Ben didn’t ask. Instead he plied Sam for more stories. “Will you finish it for me?” He begged. Sam, for all the pain it seemed to cause him, liked having a captive ear for once and settled in. “Years passed. Wonderful years. Never were two people so happy, so in love. Not that things were easy for them. See, they'd forgotten one very important individual."

"Rafael." Ben put in, knowingly.

"Rafael." Sam confirmed.

* * *

Rafael hated Dean for taking Cas away from him and vowed revenge. He was a crafty bugger. He sent out word to assassins both human and not and put a price on Dean's head, 100,000 pieces of gold, dead or alive. A fortune fit for a king. Dean and Cas had to be on guard every minute of every day. Even in the market. Every one of them underestimated them though. Dean fought like twenty men on his own, but with Cas at his side, he fought like a hundred. Cas himself was no slouch and together they were practically unbeatable.

Still, after years of fighting for their lives and seemingly endless supplies of assassins, Dean and Cas (And Sam) were tired and had had more than enough. Something had to give. So one day, a pair of assassins led Dean, bound in chains, into Rafael's palace. They loaded the assassins up with bags of gold until they could barely stand.

* * *

"No!"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"What kind of no good dirty scum would trade in Uncle Dean for money?" Ben asked, disgusted.

Sam got a mischievous look on his face and smiled back at Ben. "Well," he said, "Cas and I would."

* * *

Rafael was so happy to have his problems over with that he decided to take a break for the evening and he had Dean escorted down to his infamous dungeon of one thousand three hundred and eighty seven tortures.

* * *

"Once we were down there, I drew my sword, and single handedly slaughtered everyone in there without dropping a single gold coin," Sam said proudly.

Ben looked at him incredulously. Sure, Sam could hold his own in a fight, and he could be plenty scary, but Ben just couldn't picture Dean or Cas letting Sam take all the glory for himself. "You're saying Dean and Cas just stood there while you saved him?"

"What, you don't think I killed all those people and saved Dean?"

"Dean hogs the bad guys,” Ben quoted at him, “And I'll never meet Cas, but I don't think he'd let either of you have all the fun."

Sam looked at Ben with mock disappointment. "Too damn smart for your own good," he muttered, ruffling Ben's hair.

* * *

In reality, Sam was carrying two swords, a pistol, and the majority of the gold. When they got down to the dungeon, Dean threw off his chains, which were really just there for show, drew one of Sam's swords, and went to town while Cas made a break for the slaves' chambers. Sam, burdened as he was, drew his sword and made his way back to the stables. The whole mission had gone as planned so far and they couldn't afford to do anything wrong. The plan had been whoever got burdened with the gold went for the horses and cleaned out Rafael's famous and elite stables while the other freed the slaves and prisoners in his dungeons, most of whom were there for no good reason. And Dean, well. Dean had his own special purpose for this run. One that would ensure that the winged dick himself would never come after them again.

* * *

High in his opulent bedchamber, Rafael meditated and sought revelation from On High. He came back to himself with Dean's consecrated swords across his throat. He cowered back against one of the bed posts, knowing he would surely die without even the right to beg for mercy. But Dean was a man not without honor. He leapt from the bed and tossed a sword Rafael's way.

Rafael rolled out of bed to scoop up the proffered sword- and came up with two. He was fast and well learned with a sword. Dean and Rafael were engaged in a duel for their lives. Both knew what the other intended. The fight was brutal and long, each parry and thrust becoming more and more desperate. Finally, Dean saw his opening and within the blink of an eye, Rafael was on his knees, grace leaking from a shallow slice in his throat, awaiting the final blow. He bowed his head in acceptance of his fate. Instead of death, a ring of fire burst up around him. He looked back up to see Dean on the railing of his balcony. Dean looked Rafael in the eye and said, "Twice, I have held your life in my hands. And twice, I have given it back to you. The next time, your life is mine." And he dropped from the balcony. Rafael, finally able to move, rushed to the balcony. Surely, that fall had killed him. But no. There, in the distance, ran his whole herd of fine race horses and on their backs, his entire force of slaves. At their head were three horses, one black, one white, one grulla. He absently rubbed at his throat and grudgingly watched as his entire livelihood disappeared from his sight.

He didn't go after them. Some say, he recognized the Winchesters as more honorable and chose not to go after them. Others say he was too scared of them, now that he was mortal.

* * *

"Personally, I think he was so damn busy after discovering oil on his land and he became one of the five richest men in the world," Sam finished. He sat back and looked out at the driveway.

"Wait."

"What's the matter?"

"The bad guy gets filthy rich? What kind of ending is that?"

"True story," Sam said.

"So that's how you guys got all your money?"

A car door slammed and the teenagers took off down the driveway. Sam looked up, distracted while Dean waved them off and plopped down in his chair.

"Those young men will be alright now," he said definitively.

"I should hope so," Sam said knowingly.

Dean sighed and stretched, "Ugh, I'm tired and sore."

"Well, you've been busy. Beating up teenagers, wrestling Hellhounds, you've had a full day."

"Hm. Not as good as it used to be though. Won't be long before the kid here can kick my ass. Won't be long before I'm useless. When I won't even be able to-"

"You'll feel better in a day or two," Sam interrupted, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Dean grunted in reply and they watched the sunset for awhile. Finally, he stretched and declared that he'd turn in for the night.

When the screen door slammed and Dean's footsteps faded, Ben turned and looked expectantly to Sam.

"What?"

"Aren't you gonna tell me how it ends?"

Sam looked him up and down and smirked a little, "Nope."

"What?!"

"You heard me."

"But why?"

"I'm tired of doing all the dirty work around here. If you want hear the end of this story, you're gonna have to ask him." He nodded in the direction of the house.

Ben was astounded and terrified. "Ask Uncle Dean? Are you kidding?! Look what happened when I just barely mentioned Cas' name!"

"Look, Ben. It's really not my story to tell. If you want it bad enough, you'll ask him."

Ben sighed heavily and sat back uncomfortably in his chair.

* * *

After that, things got awkward. Ben tried to work up the guts to ask Dean about Cas, but he never could. He took to sitting on the steps again and not in his chair. Sam and Dean never said anything about it.

Soon, Ben was questioning the story altogether. If it wasn't for Dean's midnight excursions and the trunk with Castiel's picture, he'd call Sam a good storyteller who didn't want to tell a kid any boring or sordid details.

Ben sat up late, silently begging Cas' picture to tell him the rest of his story so he wouldn't have to risk the wrath of Dean when the door slammed downstairs. Expecting Dean, Ben rolled slowly out of bed. But no. It was Sam. He strode through the yard and across the drive to the bunker. He drew a key from his jeans pocket and unlocked it. Ben darted downstairs and was able to sneak in the bunker doorway just as it slammed shut.

He stood in awe. Ben had assumed the bunker was just a massive tornado precaution. No. It was a whole other world. Computers and maps and jars and artifacts filled the space. And the books. The books alone were enough to trump the Library of Commerce.

A door slammed shut in the bowels of the bunker and Ben jumped a little before following the noise.

Sam ducked into a storage room at the end of a hall. Ben slid into a doorway and watched as a couple stacks of hundred dollar bills were shoved into the hallway. Oh God. He'd found it. Of course they kept the money underground, under lock and key and warding. Ben's thoughts drifted to Crowley's visit a couple months back. Did he know where they kept the money? Or did he just know what was down there? Sam pulled the door shut and locked it. Ben ducked further into the room and hid against a wall. He looked around. Weapons hung from the ceiling and the walls. Old pictures were enshrined on a table next to a bed, perfectly made to military standards. Sam walked past, leaving Ben alone. He crossed the room as quietly as he could and examined the photos. Sam and Dean in French Foreign Legion Uniforms, holding their horses. Castiel and Dean standing over a Hellhound while Sam held three rifles. More pictures of Sam, Dean, and Cas in various situations were scattered around the room. Two uniforms peeked out of a closet, plastic coverings keeping them pristine. This was a shrine. A shrine that proved Sam's stories true. Ben was overjoyed. And curious. There were medals from three different militaries and multiple wars all along the shelves. If anything could pique his curiosity to the point of asking Dean, this was it. Then the lights went off in the bunker. Ben carefully navigated his way out. He went to bed that night comforted and confident. He would ask Dean about Cas the next day.

* * *

 

He did not ask Dean the next day. No opportunity presented itself. Dean was restless all day anyway and a delivery truck drove up just as Ben was finishing feeding Cas. There was a biplane in the back. Sam was just as surprised as Ben was. Usually, they told each other when they bought stuff through the mail.

"Dean? What's this?"

"What's it look like?"

"But an airplane?"

"Always wanted one."

"Bullshit. You always said you'd never set foot in one. You'd never trust they wouldn't fall out of the sky!"

"Can’t be that hard," he snapped, then turned to the truck driver, "You got an instruction manual?"

"Yup!" The guy tossed one out of his pocket.

"You don't know shit about flying!" Sam burst out.

"It's easy. See?" He read from the manual, "to climb pull back on the stick, to descend, push forward on the stick. We'll have this thing up in no time."

Sam sighed and looked at Ben. He'd never looked so helpless. Dean couldn't really be thinking- no. Ben refused to think like that.

Later that afternoon, Sam and Ben sat on the porch watching Dean work on the plane. Ben was nervous and Sam was open to whatever Ben wanted to ask so he tentatively said,"Maybe it's just a new hobby. Maybe he doesn't really mean to...you know..."

Sam looked at him sadly. Well that answered that question. "You really believe that?" He asked.

Ben couldn't answer that honestly so he looked away.

"You asked him yet?" Sam asked, "About Cas?"

Ben shook his head.

Sam sighed. "Better make it quick."

* * *

Ben waited until that night. He grabbed a blanket and trekked down to the lake. Dean stood, as always, on the beach looking out for Cas. Ben snuck up behind him and held out the blanket. When it touched his shoulders, Dean grabbed it and subconsciously pulled it close around him. He didn't wake up.

Ben took a deep breath and five seconds of courage and tapped him in the middle of the back.

"Hey! What?" Dean roared, panicking himself awake. He spotted Ben and relaxed immediately. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

Ben took a deep breath and choked out, "What happened to him, Uncle Dean?"

Dean blinked.

"What happened to Cas?"

Dean sighed and looked back out on the lake. When he finally spoke he sounded so heartbroken, so old. "He died. When we closed the gates of Hell, he didn't make it."

Ben was shocked. He felt tears prick his eyes as Dean continued, "Sam was gonna do the trials to close the gates of Hell. I guess martyrdom’s in the blood. Had his heart set on it. But Cas ended up killing the Hellhound and he was the only one who could get into Hell and deliver an innocent soul to Heaven."

* * *

Cas didn't look good at all. Dean fought and begged him to stop, but angels have a code of honor. And they see their missions through. Even to the Death. No matter who their loved ones are or how they try to stop them. Cas insisted. Said Hell being closed forever was more important than one measly angel. But Dean, and Sam, would've traded all the Demons and all the Evil in the world just to have Cas by their side. Still, Cas wouldn't budge and finally, Dean gave in. Tried to make it as easy as possible for him. They called up a crossroads demon- Crowley. Had dealings with him and his witch of a mother before they finally trapped him in a tiny church for the final ritual.

Cas got weaker and weaker throughout the night. Crowley became more and more human, more emotional and no less manipulative. Dean wanted to punch him. Cas wanted him to leave. Sam too. Neither of them wanted Dean to see his beloved like that. But Dean had a code of honor too and he stuck to his angel until the very end.

Cas said the incantation, stuck Crowley one more time with his blood, and collapsed. Sam and Dean hauled him out of the church just as it lit up brighter than the sun and every portal of evil on the Earth wrenched shut forever.

Dean didn't rejoice. Neither did Sam. Cas died in Dean's arms as new life for the rest of the world began.

* * *

Ben was stricken. Tears ran fresh down his face. He couldn't imagine, "What did you do?"

Dean’s voice was painfully matter of fact, "Sam went back to the hunt, just to make sure things cleared up. But I- I couldn't. So I went back to the only life I knew outside of the hunt. Back to the legion. Next forty years there was always one more war to fight. Then I got old and Sam and I came back here."

"How do you stay sane here?"

Dean sighed.

"I-"

"There's just so much that people say about you guys. How do you deal with all the people who don't believe you?"

"Kid, you wanna believe something, you believe it. Just because a thing isn’t true doesn’t mean you can’t believe in it," Dean said fervently. He sighed again, "There's a long speech I give to young men, sounds like you need to hear a piece of it. Just a piece, mind."

Ben leaned forward expectantly. Sam had heard this. He suspected Cas had too.

"Sometimes," he started, "a thing that may or may not be true might just be the thing a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good, that honor, courage and virtue mean everything. That power and money, money and power, mean nothing. That good always triumphs over evil. And I want you to remember this, True Love," he swallowed, "True Love never dies. You remember that, okay? Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. See a man needs to believe in those things because those are the things worth believing in." He stumbled to a stop.

Ben was rapt. He didn't want Uncle Dean to stop. Then he got an idea. "That was a good speech," he said through tears.

Dean, still stoic despite it all, looked proud, "You think so? Thanks."

"When are you gonna give me the rest of it?"

"When you're almost a man."

"So you're gonna stick around and tell it to me, right?"

"You won't be living here then."

"I'll come back."

"Look, I'll write it down-"

"No I want YOU to give me the speech!" He burst out. "Did you think we didn't know what you bought that damn airplane for?!"

"Now listen-"

"YOU'RE MY UNCLE, I NEED YOU TO STICK AROUND AND BE MY UNCLE!"

Dean was struck dumb. Like he didn't know how much he meant to everyone. Ben continued on with a speech of his own.

"Look, I know you miss Cas an awful, awful lot. But if you go we'll miss you just as much."

"We?" Dean choked out.

"Yeah. We. Me and Uncle Sam and Cas the Hellhound and the dogs and the freaking pig!"

Dean threw up his hands and the blanket dropped to the ground. Neither of them really noticed it. "Fine. Fine you win. I’ll stuck around and be your damn uncle. Don't expect me to be happy about it."

Ben rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug. Dean took a couple seconds, but he relaxed into it and they both cried very manly tears about everything. Dean patted his back and muttered, "You're a good boy." Every now and then. They stayed that way long into the night.

* * *

Everyone was busy with corn harvest and chores. They ate huge piles of corn with every meal and sat on the porch in the afternoon drinking iced tea. The summer flew by and everyone chose to ignore the end of the summer, even though they hadn't heard anything from Lisa. Life was good and everyone was as happy as they'd ever been that summer.

Ben was used to Dean's sleepwalking and Sam's adventures to the bunker. But one night, a car rolled up at two in the morning, blaring music. Two slightly drunk people stumbled out of the car, laughing. The man chased the woman onto the porch and caught her in his arms. Ben focused on the woman and shot down the stairs the second he recognized her.

"Mom?" Despite everything, he was genuinely happy to see her. She swept him in a hug, "Oh sweetheart! Look at you! You got so big!"

She seemed to suddenly realize what time it was and where they were. She lifted a finger to her lips and motioned to the man. "Ben, honey, this is Stan."

"Heard a lot about you Ben."

Ben looked him up and down. He didn't like this man's vibe. Not at all. He was all smooth and debonair. Like the salesmen. They might be useful, but he wouldn't trust one as far as Cas the Hellhound could drag him. "Benjamin, actually."

Lisa guided them all to the chairs on the porch. Ben took Dean's automatically. Stan and his mom flanked him on either side. Ben shook himself out of his happiness and asked what he'd been wondering for months, anticipating a lie, “What happened to court reporting school?”

Lisa tensed up just minutely; if it hadn’t been Ben, you couldn’t tell, “Oh, I had to quit. Stan here wants me to stay home and be a wife and mother. Isn’t that nice?” It was sure all she’d ever wanted. If that’s what Stan would give her, that was fantastic. And if they made each other happy, good riddance. His mom deserved it. But she also had a tendency to fall for the losers. They’d say all the right things at all the right times, but she never stopped to ask herself what all these guys had in common. It was something in their eyes. Something in the way they held themselves and sneered at everything that walked by, like the world owed them something and they were gonna take it no matter what. Mom called it ambition. Ben called it dickheadedness. The way Stan looked at her, like she was a piece of meat, told him that this guy was no different than the others. “So listen, Ben,” his mom said, ”Stan here’s a detective.”

“Really,” Ben said flatly, hoping against hope that Dean or Sam would take a midnight stroll. Of course this had to be the one night they slept like babies.

“Sure! Sure, wanna see my badge?” Stan flicked a wallet open and flashed a quick gold shield at him, fingers conveniently covering the number. Ben looked skeptically at him.

“Ben, I know this is gonna be hard to process, but it’s about your two uncles. I was looking through some old files and their descriptions match those of two bank robbers from the twenties and thirties.”

What? Ben shook his head, “No, you’re wrong.”

“I showed the pictures to your mother.”

“It’s them alright, honey.”

“They used shotguns, they wore disguises. They stole all that money.”

“But what about Cas?”

“Cas?”

“Yeah. She and Dean were in love. I have her picture,” Ben hoped he looked as hysterical and upset as he sounded.

“Honey,” Stan started, “Wasn’t- Cas- the woman driving the getaway car?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!”

Stan sighed, “Ah, Cas. She was wounded. And they just. Left her for dead.”

Ben bit back a laugh. His mother took it for a sob and reached forward, “My poor baby! All alone with dangerous criminals! We came as soon as we found out. We’ve come to take you away. Now just tell Stan where the money is and we’ll get out of here.”

And that was the ticket. “Why do you need to know where the money is?”

“Listen to me, son.” _Not your son, dick face_ “Because it doesn’t belong to them. Why don’t we take a little walk, hm?”

Ben tried to slip back into the house, but Stan grabbed his shoulder. “You know, Benjamin, your mother and I found a nice house. Don’t have quite enough for the down payment though.”

“Since all that money’s stolen honey, we got just as much a right to it as they do.”

Bullshit. “Even if it were, it would all be evidence in an investigation. If you were a police officer, you’d know that,” Ben retorted.

“Lisa, go wait on the porch. Benjamin and I are gonna have a chat. Man to man,” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. Ben almost shouted, but he could imagine all too easily what Stan would do if he did. “Why don’t we talk in the barn?”

Stan all but dragged Ben into the barn and he could see his mother obediently go sit on the porch. Time was she would fight her way towards whatever was best for him. Now, it seemed, life had finally gotten the best of her. Beaten her down too many times to fight back. Ben didn’t blame her. He pitied her. That was almost worse. He didn’t have much time to think on it before Stan hauled off and punched him in the gut. He grunted. “Listen here, kid,” he whispered dangerously in his ear. “There’s people out there that want me gone. I need that money and I’m not gonna let a snot nosed kid get in my way.”

“But you’re gonna punch him til he gives you what you want. That’s real smart,” Ben shot back. Another one to the gut. _Shut up, Ben._

“Tell me where it is.”

Ben caught sight of the cornfield behind the barn. He let out a shout that was cut off by yet another punch to the gut. Ben had had enough. No one was coming to help. Not in time at any rate. He looked up into Stan’s cold eyes and thought of Dean. What would Dean and Sam, Hell, even Cas do? “Defend yourself,” He cried and put a well aimed kick right in the balls.

He took off, bent over and clutching his stomach. He coughed a little and looked around. He’d gone out the back of the barn by the cornfield. He circled around the side of the barn and tried to shout, but Stan had knocked the breath out of him. He scurried toward the house, but didn’t get that far. Stan tackled him from behind and wrestled him underneath him, one hand over his mouth, the other made a fist. _Cas! Help!_ he prayed silently, desperately. Ben started to lose consciousness. Then came an ear piercing howl and Stan's eyes flicked black as he was ripped off Ben. There was Cas the Hellhound. His eyes were glowing bright blue. So bright they almost blinded him. Ben couldn’t be sure, but a set of dark wings spread behind Cas. He lifted a huge paw and rested it on Stan’s head. He let out a scream and light poured into his head, burning his eyes out. Ben shut his eyes instinctively. When he opened them, Cas was just a hellhound, slumped forward on Stan’s limp body. Sam and Dean stood over them with shotguns. Lisa scurried over, screaming incoherently. Dean bent down and pushed Cas off Stan and stopped short. He looked at Ben and back at the Hellhound. He shook his head and muttered, “Dead.”

“Oh MY GOD HE’S DEAD! STAN’S DEAD!”

Dean shot up from his spot and looked her right in the eye. “AND HE DAMN WELL DESERVED IT!" He roared. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING BRINGING THIS SON OF A BITCH OUT HERE AND LETTING HIM AT YOUR BOY?” Lisa stopped screaming and smiled eerily. Her eyes flicked black. “Oh, boys, you’ve gotten slow in your old age. Time was-”

“Exorcitamus te. Omnes imundus Spiritus, Omnes Satanica potestas,” Dean didn’t let up, but neither did Lisa. Rather what was possessing Lisa. It squirmed and screamed, but Ben didn’t hear anymore. He knew the exorcism from school. Memorized it right next to the Pledge of Allegiance and America the Beautiful. Lisa let out a scream and collapsed to the ground as black smoke raced from her body. Sam checked her pulse and shook his head at Dean. Ben’s eyes fixed on Cas. He was dead too. Ben gathered him to his chest and willed him to open his eyes.

Somewhere off in the distance, Dean muttered, “Sam, get her out of here.” Sam apparently followed suit because suddenly Sam was gone and his mom was gone and Dean settled next to Ben and pulled him to his chest. Ben flinched and Dean became even more concerned. “What the Hell did they do to you?” he murmured.

“He- Cas-” Ben couldn’t say anything else. He just shuddered and let the tears come. Dean held him close until he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

They buried Cas in his cornfield the next day. “Stan’s eyes were burned out,” Dean said softly.

“I prayed to him. To Castiel,” Ben blurted out. Sam and Dean looked shocked. “I couldn’t- I couldn't yell and- and Stan was on top of me and I didn't- I thought, maybe-”

“You did good, Ben,” Sam reassured him.

“Where’s my mom?” he asked after a few minutes. 

“We put her under the holy oak,” Dean said.

“You don’t have to-” Sam started.

“Yeah, I do,” Ben squared his shoulders and reluctantly pushed his way out of the cornfield. When he finally found himself in front of the tree, he was at a loss for words. He had no clue how long the woman buried under the tree hadn’t been his mother. He didn’t know what to say to her. He stood there for a long time until finally he did what came naturally. “Cas,” he choked out, “You probably can’t hear me anymore but-” He swiped at his eyes. “If you’re in Heaven can you check on my mom? She was a good person, I swear. She always tried her hardest and- and she didn’t deserve what she got. Will you-” Tears rolled freely down his cheeks. “Will you tell her I’m sorry? Tell her- tell her I love her and I-” Ben couldn’t say anymore. Sam and Dean came up behind him. Each put one arm around his shoulders. He turned and buried his face in their shirts. They stood there and let him cry.

* * *

“What do you think happened to him?” Ben asked later that night. They were sitting on the front porch with their iced tea, trying not to think too hard about the future and failing. Sam flipped through a magazine, looking to see if traveling salesmen sold school supplies and Dean was whittling a piece of wood. At Ben’s question, both of them stopped what they were doing. “Cas?” Dean asked. “Probably burned himself out. We’ll probably never know.”

Ben accepted that answer and looked back down the road. A flick of movement caught his eye at the end of the drive. “What’s that?” Ben asked.

Dean huffed and kept after his whittling. Sam looked up and squinted. “Dean,” He started. When Dean still didn’t look up, Sam punched his arm. “What?!”

“Look!” Sam pointed. The figure on the driveway gradually got bigger as it approached. Dean looked up. “What the Hell?”

“I think that’s the opposite,” Sam muttered.

Dean bolted down the road to meet the figure. It was soon close enough that Ben could make out the shape of a man with dark hair and a long tan coat over a white shirt. “Can’t be,” Sam muttered, even though he knew it was true. He wasn’t far behind Dean when he turned back and called, “C’mon, Ben!”

They all met halfway up the driveway. The man and Dean were kissing deeply by the time Sam and Ben got there. They skidded to a stop and Ben noticed that the man’s hair was streaked through with silver and his hands were a little wrinkled. Dean broke away when he heard them coming and turned toward them smiling wider than he ever thought possible. The man next to him was smiling just as wide and Ben felt his own smile break through. Sam swooped in for a hug. “Ben,” he said, turning back, “I’d like you to meet-”

“Cas!” Ben knew him immediately from the picture in his bedroom and crushed him in a hug of his own. He pulled back to find him smiling down at Ben. “Benjamin Braeden. I’d like to thank you. It was your prayer that brought me back to my family.”

“No. Cas, thank you. For saving my life.”

“Of course. Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters,” He grinned. 

Dean snorted a laugh, "Really?" Ooh. Inside joke. 

"Hey, you hungry?" Sam asked. "Or are you still-" 

"Starving. And- mostly. I still have my wings and a marginal amount of grace, but most of it was spent on-" He motioned to Ben. He suddenly looked ravenous. "Do you have... what was it you always talked about? Hamburgers and... P.B. and J?" 

Dean barked a laugh and threw his arm around Castiel's shoulders, "We've got so much more than that, Cas, you don't even know." They turned up to the house, all but lost in each other. Sam and Ben watched them for a good while before Sam put his arm around Ben's shoulders and followed them. Ben smiled and murmured quietly, to no one in particular, "Welcome Home." 

 

 


End file.
